His Hands
by WindStar
Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid finds himself in a Sanitarium, and sitting across from him is a doctor who tells him that none of it was real. His real name is Jason Masters, a paranoid schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder. But she's wrong, isn't she?
1. Chapter 1

**Windstar: **This is a story of firsts. My first Criminal Minds fanfiction, and my first time writing in first person. I hope it's alright. Reviews are appreciated as I am new to this fandom and want to keep my characterization accurate. Thank you.

**Summary: **Dr. Spencer Reid finds himself in a Sanitarium, and sitting across from him is a doctor who tells him that none of it was real, and he never existed. His real name is Jason Masters, a paranoid schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder. But she's wrong, isn't she?

**Rated: **T

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Criminal Minds or its affiliates, this is a non-profit work. Applies to all chapters.

**Chapter One: **

They always said that truly intelligent individuals were the first to crack, and I suppose that must have been true. I certainly never would have allowed the idea to cross my mind before I met Jason Masters though. He seemed like a nice enough individual, and as far as patients went- he wasn't nearly as violent or as angry as he could have been.

Still, there was something about the way that he sat in the corner of the lounge, his eyes staring out the window as though he could see everything and anything that crossed in front of him. He was endlessly intelligent, that was for certain, but most of his knowledge seemed otherworldly, and it added to his delusions.

I had been given him as a sort of joke from the other people I work with. Everyone knew he was basically a lost cause, but they enjoyed tormenting me with the idea that I was stuck listening to him. I was fresh out of school and was excited to work with someone that I could really change, but no one else had been able to do anything with Jason, and so I had been given him.

He was tall compared to me, and stood about six foot one. He was skinny though, and sometimes I heard the other residents joke about how if he stood sideways he could disappear. (I've seen him disappear on a more practical basis, he had a way of just slipping passed security and making it halfway down the road before anyone caught up with him. That cost him several weeks in solitary and he wasn't allowed to even leave his room for sessions. He only tried it twice after that and then he stopped trying all together. The last time was the most efficient though; instead of taking the road he cut through the woods on the side. He almost made it to town before the search dogs found him and brought him back.) He had the same hair cut as everyone, cropped short and tidy. It didn't look natural on him though, and I can easily imagine him with longer locks.

He's wearing the same uniform all the patients wear, and there's a medical bracelet around his wrist that screens against certain drugs. He didn't have any medical history or anyone to come for him. When he was delivered to us, he was raving during one of his delusions and he hasn't broken out of it yet. Not even the strongest anti-psychotics seem to do anything except sedate him, and his tolerance to these drugs increases daily. Greater doses need to be administered at times, and eventually it seemed like he just gave up.

He hasn't tried fighting the process in over six months, and now he just stares out the window and talks with me whenever it's time for our sessions. Through it all, he seems incredibly resigned and indulgent, as though he's speaking to a small child. He believes he's more intelligent then I am, and perhaps his knowledge of useless information is, but I have spent my entire educational career to study the mind and how to assist people through their own heads, and I know him better then he thinks.

"Jason? It's time for our session." He looks up at me, and he looks tired. He has chronic Dark-eye syndrome, and it always makes him look more exhausted then he actually is. Today is a good day, and I can see from the way that he glances longingly at the window, that he's more lucid then he was before. He pushes himself up from the chair, and follows me as I lead him back to my office. He doesn't like his cell, and is always distracted when he's inside of it. I've noticed our sessions go much easier when he's in my comfort zone and not his.

He sits down in the chair that I have ready for him, and I sit across from him at my desk. His hands are fidgeting, and he keeps rotating the medical bracelet about his wrist. I've often wondered if he could slip it off of his hand, but each time I mention it, he demonstrates how impossible that would be and gives a longwinded explanation about the physics needed to do something of that nature. I've stopped mentioning it by now.

"How are you feeling today, Jason?" I ask gently, looking over him for any signs of the injuries that may not have been reported. Accidents happen in facilities such as these, and I was prepared to always look for the worst case scenario.

He lifted one shoulder and his eyes scanned over all the books I have on my shelf. When he eventually turns his attention onto me, he gives me a somewhat pleasant smile and I feel my pulse quicken. I'm preparing for what I know will come. Today isn't a good day at all, today he's going to lie again. Today the delusions hold strong.

"My name isn't Jason, it's Spencer Reid, and I feel about as well as anyone would feel when they've been wrongly institutionalized in a sanitarium." This answer is the same answer he gives whenever the medications have ceased working. We've had him on the anti-psychotics for so long now, that the stages of his awareness have grown. It's rare that patients will hold onto their delusions this strongly, but he's resilient and he won't back down. We're going to need to find a new regimen for him. I make a note in my book stating as much.

"_Jason_," I corrected lightly, "We've been over this."

"_Melissa_," He corrects lightly, and suddenly I feel as though my father is scolding me again. "I can prove it."

This is the same bargaining chip he's been using since the moment I've met him. I wearily look down at my notes. The same phone number will be given, the same instruction to contact the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit and contact Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, and when I refuse, he gives me more names and more numbers. All of them are FBI agents; all of them probably don't exist.

"Jason, these delusions of yours aren't real." He gets frustrated at that, and he's fidgeting worse. I take in his pale complexion and now realize there is a waxy sheen to it. His Dark-Eye syndrome is far darker then it was in the past. I know he's going through side effects from the medications, and I can already see the warning signs greater damage. He's too agitated. The drugs he's on shouldn't allow him to act this way.

"What's so wrong with calling? It's one number! If you call them and it's fake then no harm no foul. If you call them and it's real then I can leave."

"Jason, I am not calling a phone number to indulge your fantasies." I tell him sternly, and now the agitation is growing.

"I really do not like that name." He says succinctly, and there is a wave of defiance crossing his features.

"Why not?" At least we're getting somewhere. His insistence on being called Spencer Reid must stem from somewhere. If he hates his own name, then perhaps we can understand the reason behind it and move forwards.

"It's Gideon's first name." I sigh at that. Jason Gideon, another one of the FBI agents that has come to possess my patient's mind. Masters had a close emotional bond with that particular fantasy. He'd practically rewritten history itself and considered the man to be his father. Gideon left though, and he hasn't reappeared in years. I don't understand what made him cast the man aside, but David Rossi replaced Gideon, and no new attachment was made.

"Why did you transfer your name onto Gideon?" Jason was scowling now, and I feel his anger crackling in the air.

"You aren't very good at your job." He insists irritably, and I prepare myself for another lecture. I focus on his hands; they're twisting around in his lap now. The long piano fingers are turning and clenching each other. His digits look like knots. He's sweating. He's uncomfortable. His hands look distorted, no longer human. It is only then, as that thought reaches my mind, do I look up and meet his eyes. He's been talking this whole while, and I fade back into reality. "…patients respond when you accept their delusions as true."

"Your delusions aren't true. I'm not here to talk down to you, I'm here to help you see reality."

"You won't prove my reality doesn't exist. You won't pick up the phone." I realize he's backed me into a corner. I can either continue on with this conversation, or lift the phone to my ear, or I can change the subject.

I decide to humor him. Nothing else has worked, and perhaps this is the only way to prove that he truly has created a fantasy around him. "What's the number again?" I ask him, and I see the hope in his features. He's smiling, he's excited, and he thinks he is going to leave here. He thinks that I'm wrong. He tells me the number; it's the same as all the other times. I wanted to make sure he knows that it is real.

I show him the phone as I dial; he's licking his lips in anticipation. He' practically begging me to put it on speakerphone, and so I indulge. The phone rings once, twice, and then suddenly I hear a man pick up.

"Hello?" I look up at my patient; his eyes are wide, his face drawn of any and all color. I don't believe he's breathing. He's recognized something about this call and I realize that this is not the voice of his delusions. I was right. He was wrong.

"Yes, hello, my name is Dr. Melissa Ryan, I'm looking for an Aaron Hotchner?" There is a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line.

"You're calling for Jason aren't you?" The man asked, and I gave my patient a direct look. He's not paying attention. He's practically vibrating he's shaking so hard. He can't believe what he's hearing.

"Yes, who is this?"

"I'm his father, he's been calling this number for years thinking that he's talking to some FBI agent of some sort."

"I'm sorry for bothering you sir, thank you for your time." I hang up after finishing the pleasantries, and look at my patient. He looks as if the truth has finally hit him, and I realize that this is a turning point. This is finally where progress can be made. "You see, Jason? They're not real. Aaron Hotchner doesn't exist. He never has."

"It's a trick. The phone…you can stop a call…reroute it through to another number. It's fake. This is a mistake." He was shaking his head, his hands pressed against his brow and his fingers clenched his scalp even as he hunched over. "This is all wrong."

"Jason…I'm sorry it didn't work out, but you must see that this is the truth."

"Delusions don't go away in hospital settings. I would still be hallucinating Hotch, or Morgan, or JJ. I would still be seeing them. I haven't seen them though."

"You're on anti-psychotics." I remind him.

"I wouldn't hold onto the fact that they're real people then. I would rationalize that they are fake and move on. That is _not _the case. Something is wrong." He looked up at me and I could see the pleading in his eyes. He was desperate to hang onto the delusion; he needed it. The moment that he admitted that he made it all up, the moment that he realizes he's truly lost his sanity.

This, more then any other, reminds me of that scene from _A Beautiful Mind_; the one where Nash finally realizes that his delusions were all false because the little girl never gets any older. Jason is having a breakdown. He is falling apart. Hopefully, when everything is all said and done, he can be put back together again.

* * *

><p>It's been three days since I last spoke with Jason Masters and he saw the truth to his delusions. Now, as he sits across from me I realize that he has fallen into a deep seeded depression. We should have talked sooner then this.<p>

He's been avoiding sitting at his window, and even now, in my office, he's keeping his eyes downcast. There are scratch marks on his scalp and bruises on his head. From the state of his nails I can only imagine these were self-inflicted. His file states that he was sedated, and yet despite that he looks worn down and broken.

"How are you feeling today Jason?" I ask the routine question, and I expect the same reply I usually get. I'm surprised.

"Not too well." He admits to me, and he lifts his dark eyes to meet mine. I try to decipher the color. They always seem to change. Dark brown? Green? They're dark…but what color are they? I'm distracted. I pull myself away from his eyes and I nod my head slightly. I angle my gaze towards my paperwork.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" He doesn't say anything for a while, and when I finally look back up, I see that he is looking down. He's closed in on himself. His body language is screaming in defeat. He's been broken, beaten; he's finished. The parts of his soul have shattered, and I feel a surge of guilt. _I did this! _I remind myself foolishly. I was the one who picked up the phone. He needed the truth though, and he can get it now that he's accepted his world is false.

"I…" He trails off, looks decidedly uncomfortable, and then takes a deep breath. I wait. "I can't remember a life without…_them_." He says the word like its evil, and I'm filled with a sense of remorse. It must be terrifying. "What was my life like…_before_?" He asked at long last. It looks like it took him ages to figure out how to say it. I feel a surge of triumph. The healing process can now begin.

I look at my notes, take a deep breath, and begin.

His father, Isaiah Masters, was a metal worker in Pittsburg. His mother was a classical pianist. His mother died in a car crash when he was seven, he was in the backseat. His father was never in the house because of how long he needed to work. When he lost his job due to budget cuts, he became a coal miner. Jason's father went through a list of trophy wives that came and went and he eventually just raised himself.

When the mine collapsed when Jason we fifteen, he never heard about it. He came home and for three weeks was alone. When Isaiah came home at long last, his son had changed. In his absence, he had created a list of friends and guardians. The world shifted around him and he was no longer the same person.

"Why Spencer Reid?" Jason asked me when I finished the biography. I didn't understand. He clarified. "Why did I name myself Spencer Reid, give myself three doctorates, and say that I was an FBI agent?"

"You wanted to give yourself security, what's the highest level of security in this country?" He seemed to accept that answer, but not anything else.

"My father was a coal miner? My mother's a pianist? Why give myself chemistry, mathematics, and engineering doctorates? Why a philosophy bachelors?"

"You wanted to separate yourself from your home life." He nodded slightly, mulling over the idea.

"My mother…Spencer Reid's mother…was a paranoid schizophrenic. I…he…was always worried about developing it."

"You were projecting yourself. You knew you had the disorder; you wanted to tell yourself the truth. You just couldn't get through. It was the only thing your mind could do to let you know the truth."

"Schizophrenia develops in the twenties…I was fifteen?" he raised a skeptical brow, and I hurried to explain.

"In _most _cases. You could just be an exception." He nodded slightly, and looked thoughtful.

"Why Tobias Hankel?" I blinked. The name wasn't familiar. I flipped through my notes and didn't see anything. He laughed slightly, and motioned towards his arm where there were scars from needle punctures. I'd always assumed that we'd given them to him, but he seemed to think otherwise. "Dilauded. I…Spencer Reid became a dilauded addict after being beaten and tortured for two days by an unsub named Tobias Hankel. So…Melissa…why did I imagine that?"

My mind raced with explanations, but all I could do was stare at him. "Tortured?" I had to ask.

He was laughing slightly, and he reached down and slipped the uniform slipper off his left foot. He raised it up, and I stared at it for the longest time. There were burn scars bisected by the remains of a gash that had healed years ago. I felt physically sick as I looked at it. When I met his eyes, I could see he was still laughing. He was enjoying my shock.

"So tell me, _Doctor_, how did this happen? Why would I hallucinate Tobias Hankel just so he could torture me? Delusions are supposed to make us feel better, they act as a force to guide and protect us. They're our friends and family. This isn't like a drug hallucination, which is terrifying. This is all about keeping our mind protected. So…why would I imagine being tortured?"

"You…I…" I looked at his hands. They were steady. There was no fear or terror or confusion. He wasn't knotting them together. He wasn't uncomfortable. He was at ease. His body language had changed. He was sitting upright; his face was open to him. His eyes were challenging. He wasn't depressed.

At first I'd thought that it was because he was finally seeing the truth, but that was wrong. I clenched my hands into fists. He tricked me. "You're a liar." He laughed slightly.

"No…no I'm not a liar…I just see things much more clearly then you do. Explain Tobias Hankel to me…and maybe I'll believe you." He slipped his shoe back on, hiding the scarred flesh from sight.

I had never hated anyone more in my life, but in that moment, a part of me hated Jason Masters.

* * *

><p>I avoided Jason for another three days before I knew I had to continue doing my job. Sitting down across from him again, I felt a surge of anger bubbling up in my chest, but I fought it down. Now was not the time. Now I had to remain calm and collected. I had to take deep breaths. I had to do my job. Jason was delusional, and he needed help.<p>

"Tobias Hankel was a manifestation of the pain your father inflicted on you when he left."

"That's what you came up with?" He looked honestly intrigued by the idea, and that's how I knew he was lying. I grit my teeth.

"Your abused yourself because you thought you deserved it."

"You never told me my father abused me." He was teasing me, and I was fighting my urge to hit the table in frustration.

"He was an excuse to get hooked on drugs."

"That's not true." The anger in his tone made me fill with sudden satisfaction. Finally someone else was getting mad. He wasn't in control if he was mad. He wasn't giving me that condescending look any longer. "That's _not _true!"

"You wanted drugs, you invented an excuse. You hurt yourself!"

"No I didn't! I didn't murder all those people just to have an excuse to do drugs!" My mind went into a spiral.

"Murder?"

"Tobias Hankel murdered seven people in the name of God. While I was his captive, he told me to choose who lived and who died. I chose who lived, and he murdered a couple."

"Those people weren't real. It was a manifestation of your desire to do right or wrong."

"You're wrong." He sighed slightly, and looked suddenly defeated.

"Why are you so reluctant to give it up?" I snapped, breaking all protocol. It was a rookie mistake, but I couldn't help it anymore. He was driving me crazy.

"Because I spent two days being tortured by him. I refuse to pass the whole experience off as my excuse to get high. Not only is that completely illogical, it's nonsensical. Check the news reports, you'll see I'm not lying."

"Jason, Tobias Hankel never killed anyone. The people, who died, never existed. You used dilauded to get high."

"I was addicted! He made me addicted!"

"You made yourself addicted." The words slapped him across the face and he looked so broken down by it that I wondered if I'd gone too far. His head was spinning. He looked shattered once more, and I sighed. We were getting nowhere like this. "Why don't you go back to your room-"

"Cell." He mumbled.

"Your _room,_" I insisted "I'll see you soon." He shrugged noncommittally, stood up, and walked away. I looked back at my notes, and sighed. I never faced someone so determined to prove me wrong. It was almost unbearably sad that his delusions were so strong that he rationalized his life around them. He was endlessly intelligent, and his logical reasoning was what made this so difficult. He knew that his world was wrong, but he couldn't prove it, and it made him cling even harder. It was depressing.

* * *

><p>Two months later marked the one-year mark for Jason Masters. As he sat across from me now, I saw the real change in him. He had stopped fighting. He had stopped resisting. He now fully accepted who he was, and rejected the idea of Spencer Reid. For the longest time I believed that he was pretending, that his logical mind reasoned the only way he was leaving this facility was to adopt Jason's persona, but as the days passed and the pleasant conversations persisted, I'd started to wonder if it was true.<p>

"I heard your father was planning a visit." I mentioned to him casually. He looked over towards me from where he sat on the grass. We'd taken our session outside today. He'd been cleared for the right to do so, and we were sitting in the garden with a small meal between us. He hadn't touched his, and had simply been laying back enjoying the sun. Now though, his face looked troubled.

"I don't remember what he looks like." He admitted, and I nodded. It was expected. He seemed to have erased any memories of anything that happened in that household.

"I haven't met him either, but I heard that he was thinking about coming."

"From who?"

"The other doctors on staff."

"Why would they know about that? Wouldn't you be told as my doctor?" It was an honest question, but it made my heart skip a beat. It sounded just like Spencer Reid's pragmatic thinking. I kept waiting for the lecture or the long words to spit from his face. He restrained himself though, and I had to press deeper to understand.

"Do you ever feel like being Spencer Reid again?" He visibly flinched and looked away.

"He's not real." His voice was soft, but there was pain there. He was hurting. I could practically see the questions rising on his face. _Why is it so bad to be him? If I'm not hurting anyone…why does it matter? _

"I know that, and so do you." I gave him that much credit. He _had _gotten better. "But do you ever feel like being him again?" There was conflict warring in him. His hands were gripping the grass beside us like it was a lifeline, a lifeline that would break if he pulled away just a little. He looked utterly lost, and then finally, he broke out the word that I'd been longing to hear for so long.

"No…he's not right…he's not real…he's wrong." I nodded my head, accepted the answer, and let him enjoy the rest of his time in the sun. When we were packing up our things and heading out, I told him the rest of what I'd heard.

"Your father might take you home after this. You've improved a lot. You might not be able to remember the memories you've forgotten, but you'll have new ones to look forwards to." He just nodded, and murmured his reply.

"Yeah…I'd like that…" He sounded anything but happy with the idea, but that's what I'd gotten used to. There was no emotion, nothing except when Spencer Reid was mentioned. Then there would be panic, terror, and insistence that Spencer Reid was bad, that he was wrong, and that Jason Masters was good.

It was a crude way to look at it, but it was only proper. It was the only way that he was going to let go of the fantasy that he lived in.

* * *

><p>I was walking out of the building when I was passed by a group of people who looked entirely too official for where they were heading. I turned my head and looked over them, men and women of various shapes and sizes and all walking with purpose. They didn't so much as spare me a glance.<p>

I shrugged and moved towards my car, and it was there I realized I'd forgotten the paperwork I'd been looking over earlier. Sighing, I turned and walked back the way I came. The group was all at the desk, and were hassling the security officer and attendant that were on the night shift.

"Excuse me?" I intruded lightly, trying to understand what was going on. I looked over at Brenda, the secretary that handled all the comings and goings at the front door. She looked relieved to see me.

"Dr. Ryan! Thank God, these people are with the FBI. They're looking for someone." Frowning slightly, I looked around us and knew that this was not the best place for this discussion.

"Why don't you come to my office?" I offered, and they quickly followed as I led the way to my comfort zone. Once we'd all gathered inside, I held out my hand to introduce myself to the most important looking one of the group members.

He was tall, stern faced, and looked like he could stare down a raging bull. He shook my hand on precedent only, and then quickly introduced himself. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, I'm here on regards to a case we have had for quite some time now. One of our agents went missing while trying to apprehend the suspect in question, and we believe that he may be here."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. It was the most inappropriate thing in the world to do, but I honestly couldn't help myself. I'd spent a year and a half with Jason Masters, and the information that I'd gained from that had been enough for me to write my own book on this topic. A part of me felt the urge to call security and have all of these imposters committed, just to prove a point.

"Something funny about that?" This was a Hispanic man who looked like he'd seen one too many dead bodies, and his stern eyes and drawn face instantly had me settling down. I shook my head and apologized.

"I'm sorry, it's just…ironic really. One of my patients, he kept insisting that I call an Aaron Hotchner from the FBI, and here you are." It hadn't occurred to me that I was on the verge of hysteria until much later, but for right now everything just seemed so entertaining. It was like a game. "How'd he get the call out anyway?" They were looking at me like I was the crazy person, but I couldn't stop. This game was too well planned. "Did he do this just as a joke?"

"Is Spencer Reid here?" This man was a black man, he was tall and muscular and looked like he could kick down doors for a living. His eyes were earnest. My heart was beating faster.

"Spencer Reid?" I asked them, incredulously. "Spencer Reid doesn't exist! I don't know what he's told you, but it's not true!" The Agents, fake or not, were looking amongst each other in confusion. Aaron Hotchner stepped forwards.

"Dr. Ryan, what do you know about Dr. Reid?"

"He's a delusional persona that my patient Jason Masters adopts. He actually thinks he's an FBI agent!" My voice was straining, I could feel my body temperature rising. The AC must have been shut off for the night.

"We need to see Jason Masters right now." The black man insisted, stepping forward and looking intimidating.

"Excuse me? You can't just come in here and demand to see a patient. It's against regulations!"

"You're not understanding me lady, you're going to do this or you're going to be walked out of here in cuffs for kidnapping."

"_Excuse me_?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Exigent circumstances, if we search this place and he's here – you're going down for kidnapping. So are you going to help us or not?" My mouth fell open; I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I couldn't believe a word of it.

"No, we found the right meds and therapy for him, he's finally accepted that Spencer Reid and the FBI doesn't exist, you showing up will be detrimental to his recovery!" My words only seemed to anger the Agents even more, and the black man slammed his hands down hard on my desk. I yelped and leapt back, hardly believing what I was seeing.

"Spencer Reid is a real person! Now where is he!" Terror shook through me, and I couldn't move, couldn't speak. The black man came around the desk, I heard someone murmur the name 'Morgan' in warning, and suddenly everything clicked in my mind.

Agents Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, and that would be JJ behind them. They were all playing the parts of Jason's fantasy. I started laughing. "This is all a joke…it's an April fools joke." I was shaking, disbelieving. Morgan gripped my arms and started to drag me out of my office.

"Bring me to him right now." He hissed angrily, and I as the fear and hysteria got the better of me I started to lead him to the room…the cell…that Jason Masters had been living in for the past two years.

The door looked like any other, but I couldn't help but feel a surge of apprehension. I knew what this was going to do to my patient. He was going to loose it. We'd never get him back. He'd be lost in his delusions forever. These people had made it so much worse. They'd made it so much worse…too much worse. Jason would be scarred for the rest of his life.

I tried to plead for them not to open that door, but Morgan told me if I didn't unlock it, he'd kick it down. I knew he wouldn't be able to, it was bolted shut to keep such things from happening, but I was too terrified to disagree. I shakily lifted my keys and pressed them into the lock. The door opened, and I was dragged inside as the agents filled the room.

My arms were released, and I looked at Jason Masters sleep for the first time. He was twisted in his sheets, there was sweat drenching his brow. He looked like he was in the throws of a nightmare, but he never opened his eyes. He never spoke. His hands were clenched around his pillow that he held to him like a toy or child. He was pale and shivering slightly.

Morgan approached slowly, crouching down beside him and looking over him with a gaze I couldn't describe. It was like a man who had been starving finally being presented with a five-course meal. He didn't know what to do with it now that he had it, and he didn't know how to proceed. Reaching out slowly, he placed a hand on Jason's shoulder, and I whispered a quiet prayer to whoever was listening, that this was all going to be a bad dream.

Then…Jason woke up, and he screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Windstar: **Thank you to all of the wonderful reviewers, I honestly appreciate it more then words can say. A few things will become more clear in this chapter, and the mindset of my narrator will solidify with more understanding. Hopefully this will give you all a good idea as to what direction this story will take. Once again, I appreciate all the reviews, an I hope you enjoy this next installment.

**Update: **Thank you to Cara for the attention drawn to the typo.

**Chapter Two: **

It was a sound that I don't think I'll forget for the rest of my life. It was the sound of pure terror. Morgan drew his hand back like he'd been burnt, and Jason; Jason threw himself against the back wall and screamed louder and louder with no intentions of stopping any time soon. I made a move to go to him, comfort him, but was pulled back roughly by Agent Rossi.

"Reid…Reid it's Morgan, you're okay." The black man was trying hard, but he wasn't getting through to Jason. I kept urging the young man to keep his head, that he was doing fine, I was praying this would be over soon. This was torture. "Reid-"

"You're not supposed to be here!" It was the first sensical thing he'd said since waking up, and the tension in the room increased exponentially. "Go away! Go away!" He flailed his arm in front of him as though he were trying to strike at the air. Morgan didn't move. He didn't even try to avoid it when one of those flails knocked into his arm. Jason was shaking violently, he was terrified, and he deserved to be. These men were playing a sick joke and it was just _wrong_.

"Please, please, this isn't right. You're scaring him!" Morgan growled low in his throat and turned around. He looked at me with pure hatred in his eyes and I gasped at the intensity of it.

"You told him he was delusional! You made him think he didn't exist!"

"Spencer Reid doesn't exist! His name is Jason-"

"His name isn't Jason! He was abducted by an unsub in the line of duty. He's been missing for two years. Reid's an FBI profiler, and our friend and family!" I stared up at him, my heart thudding against my chest. This was all wrong. This was _all wrong_.

And that's when I noticed something-

Jason had stopped screaming.

He was looking at everyone, his eyes narrowed with concentration, and I could see the federal agent persona that he'd locked away starting to shine through. My heart quickened as I stared at him. My mind was rejecting what I saw. This was _wrong_. This was _wrong_! How dare they ruin my work.

"Can you see them?" He asked, staring straight at me. The Agents in the room were deathly silent, and slowly they all turned to look at me. No one said a word.

"Jason, these people are lying-"

"_Can you see them_?" His voice was on the edge of hysteria, and I could feel the world shaking around me. Rossi's hand was squeezing on my arm and I could feel the eyes of everyone boring into my body. They were threatening pain if I didn't comply.

"Yes! Yes I can see them!" Tension was filling the room as everyone looked back at Jason. His face was blank; I couldn't tell what he was thinking of. I wished none of this had ever happened. These people were ruining everything!

"No one supposed to be here...no one...cracked..." He turned away from everyone; his eyes stared down at the bed. Then he turned and lay down, his back firmly to the rest of the room as his hands covered his ears. My heart soared even as I heard the other agent's disappointment. He was clinging onto Jason; he was rejecting them! When this was all over, he was going to be okay. These people, whatever their motive, failed!

"Reid," The pretty blonde woman, JJ, moved forwards. Her hands were shaking slightly. She looked like she might cry. She was acting very well all things considered. These people all were. They all seemed real, but they weren't. They weren't real. "Reid, do you remember how you got here?" Her voice was wavering.

Jason's nails were digging into his scalp. The patients had gotten haircuts the day before, and his baldhead was bared before them. All the small scars he'd gotten in similar fashion were visible. If he kept this pressure up, the skin under his fingers would break and he'd bleed.

"Reid…" JJ was within arms reach of him. "You…you saved my son." It was the first time I'd heard of a child, but Jason seemed to know what she was talking about. His body suddenly went rigid. "Reid…when the unsub came to my house…you were there. You saved Henry. You hid him away, and kept him safe." Jason was gritting his teeth so loudly I could hear it from where I stood. "He…he's five now, and…and he really misses you Spence." A tear fell from her cheek.

"You're not real…he's not real." Jason's voice was tortured. "Go away…let me stay here…"

"Spence…" She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He flinched, but she didn't move away. "If we're a dream, you'll wake up right?"

"No…no…_please_." The whimper was strangled. "I can't leave…"

"Tell him its okay." Rossi commanded darkly.

"He can't leave." I countered, and the words made everyone turn back to me once more. "He's a patient in my care and he's not mentally competent enough to leave." I felt empowered by Jason's committed remarks. He was holding onto truth despite what these people were trying to say.

"He's not a patient! An Unsub with a PhD in mind-fucking took him and put him in here. His name isn't Jason Masters, it's Spencer Reid." Morgan was absolutely seething, but my eyes were looking straight at my patient. JJ was stroking his arm absentmindedly, and slowly her hand was sliding into his hand.

His perfect piano hands with long bony fingers were letting up on their vice grip on his head. Her hands slipped into his, and he let her. He wasn't pulling away; he looked exhausted, spent. He didn't look like he was ready or capable of fighting this sick joke anymore.

"What on earth are you talking about?" I asked; my mind was bewildered. I couldn't understand what this was all about. "You're all lying, you're not FBI agents, you _can't _be!"

"And why's that?" Rossi asked, seemingly very interested in my response.

"Because police officers don't just drop off a patient in the middle of the night with a history and a record just to have the FBI show up later and say that he's actually one of their agents! I have a whole background of information on him! I…I spoke to his father! His father was coming to pick him up!"

"His father?" The Agents were looking at each other, confusion on their faces.

"What was his father's name?" Prentiss asked, stepping forwards. She seemed like the easiest person to talk to at the moment. JJ was too emotional or she'd be my first choice.

"Isaiah Masters."

"That explains the note." Hotchner murmured reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope. I looked at it. It looked like a regular white envelope. He took a piece of paper out of it, and read it out loud. _"My finest work, Isaiah Masters." _His voice was scathing. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My heart was thundering loudly in his chest.

"No proof…you have no proof. None of this is real. You're pretending. This is a joke. This is a sick joke. It's not funny!"

"The man we were after, he'd kidnap kids from their families and then give them back years later – changed and completely different." Prentiss was explaining gently. I stared up at her. I'd head that term 'unsub' so many times in my sessions with Jason, now I was actually putting it to work. Unsub meant an actual person…it meant that someone was really out there controlling all of this. "He always chooses cops with kids, and when we got on the case, he started to go after our families."

"Jason…Jason isn't a kid." I tried to explain, shaking as I looked at my patient.

"No, he's not." Rossi agreed.

"My son Henry was in school. Spence went to pick him up and bring him to a safe house." JJ murmured, guilt heavy in her voice. "He…he stopped at the house to pick up some things, when the unsub came." Jason was staring at the wall still. He was refusing to look back at them. I couldn't tell what he was feeling. "He hid Henry, and then confronted him. He was hurt, there was so much blood…"

I remembered the pictures that were taken of Jason when he'd first been brought in. There was blood everywhere. His face had been beaten badly. His left arm was broken, and his hands had been crushed. Someone or something had stomped on them repeatedly. The past two years hadn't just been about mental health; it had been a long physical recovery as well. His hands were just starting to get their strength back.

I thought I was going to be sick, but I held it back. I needed to hold it back.

"He disappeared. We had nothing on the Unsub, and Reid was gone…when we got the letter…"

"Isaiah Masters…that's who your suspect is?" I couldn't breathe; this seemed so fake. It seemed so unreal.

"No, it's just the name he used to call himself whenever he returned the children." Hotchner's eyes were boring into me, and I felt as though my soul had been ripped from my body.

"I…I was told…I…" I looked down at Jason…Spencer…and felt as though everything was wrong. "I _called your number_!" They looked confused for a moment. "Jason gave me your number, he told me to call it, and I did! I called! I called and Isaiah picked up!" I was hysterical and I knew it. I had just made the worst mistake any doctor in this field could made. I had implanted false memories into my patient, and now that I looked down at him, I didn't know if I could fix what I had done.

"We always thought he had a technology background…he must have been casing this place from the moment Reid was dropped off. They might have something on the logbooks." Rossi was going all FBI and I could only stare. I was having a hard time breathing.

"My God…you…you're real…you're all real…none of it was fake…dear God…I…" I was definitely going to be sick. Turning, I barely made it to Jason's bathroom before I vomited all the contents of my stomach into the porcelain. I coughed and gagged and tears came to my eyes. I couldn't believe what I had done. I couldn't believe that I had broken a man down and I had built him up as someone he wasn't.

When I finally could breathe again, everything still felt out of place and wrong. I looked back in the room, and discovered that somehow or other the Agents had managed to get Jas-_Spencer_ to sit up. He was leaning his back against the wall, hugging the pillow to his chest. His eyes were dark and hazy but he was sitting stock still.

This was Jason. This was the Jason I had created. I had made fidgety and intelligent Spencer Reid into still and silent Jason Masters. I had encouraged his mindset that anything having to do with Spencer Reid was wrong and bad, and that Jason Masters was the correct persona. I had told him time and again what was right and what wasn't. I had created this person, and I had been wrong. I had mistakenly made someone lose their mind, thinking I was healing them.

"Spence…we're going to go home alright?" JJ was talking to him sweetly, sitting by his side the whole while. Her arm was around his shoulders. He kept leaning away from it. He wanted nothing to do with the touch, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Maybe he would have in the past, but right now he was staying silent. He was keeping an invisible wall of china around him and them, and he wasn't letting anyone in.

"Is my dad here?" He asked quietly, seeming to have given up pretending they didn't exist.

"No, and he's not going to come." Hotchner said, his voice soft despite how harsh the words sounded. "You're never going to see him, we're going to keep him from you, don't worry." I couldn't stop him from saying the words, but I wanted to. I knew what effect it would have.

Jason's face was stricken; he looked like he'd never heard anything worse in his life. His heart seemed to have been ripped from his chest. I'd seen him like this only once before, when he'd legitimately been so thoroughly Jason that at the end of the session I had concluded that the fantasy of Spencer Reid was successfully buried. Instead of consoling him and calming him, I'd encouraged him to fall deeper into that mindset. I'd encouraged him to be a dutiful son that was regretful for replacing his father with fantasies of others. I'd killed Spencer Reid just as surely as a bullet.

"It's because you're here. He promised, Melissa said he'd come if I was good and I was, and you came! Why'd you come? I didn't want you to come! I want to go home!" The childish whine had been adopted somewhere a long the way, and it was a disassociation from the original brainiac that I'd come in contact with. I could feel the eyes of the Agents boring into me, sealing my fate and my soul. I had helped a madman, and I hadn't even known it.

"Spencer-"

"My name is Jason." His words were firm, concrete, and they sealed my fate. I stared at him, and I felt my hands shake. I had done this. I had diagnosed him with multiple personality disorder when he'd first come in, I had convinced him that that life and that person was wrong and he would be punished for continuing to believe in it. He had been punished. He'd been pumped so full of drugs that over the months we'd been through countless sessions where he'd simply sat and stared listlessly without any recognition to the world around him.

Who knew it would be so easy to strip away the interior of a man's soul with a few anti-psychotics and forced isolation? Who knew that it was so easy to instill fake memories inside someone's mind until they were convinced the world that they knew wasn't real and that they had been hallucinating all their life?

As my hands shook, my face withdrawn of all blood, I marveled at the power that I had. I had taken in an FBI agent, without any knowing it of course, and I had torn him apart. I had ripped his mind to shreds and stitched it back together, and I had enjoyed it.

I had enjoyed the feeling of control, and I had enjoyed feeling the strength I had over him. I had burst with delight every time he started to slip away from his reality. I had been filled with feelings of excitement whenever I saw him start to change. Then, when he had become so brutally mindless due to all the drugs, I had spent hours coaching him in his new reality. I had told him his name over and over again. I had made him repeat after me until it became second nature.

Then everything had come together, and I felt as though I had made Jason whole again. I had created a young child in the body of a man, a child that had been locked away since his father's disappearance during the coalmine collapse, since his mother's death. I had rejoiced the moment that his speech slipped and his words changed from "inconvenient," "obstreperous," and "reticent;" to words like: "bad," "mean," and "not good." I had primed with pride when I saw him lose the longing desire to leave the hospital and had decided that he much rather stay inside.

I had enjoyed stripping Spencer Reid down and making him a fifteen-year-old child who had been used and abused his whole life. I had enjoyed creating Jason Masters. And I was _happy_ when I looked at him now and saw how desperately he clung to my creation. I was _happy _that he wasn't responding to true reality because he was living off of my fantasy.

I remembered Isaiah's words now…_My finest work_.

On some level I knew that it wasn't meant as a compliment, but I couldn't help it: I was more pleased then anything else in the world. I was filled with pride. I had accomplished something that that bastard hadn't. I had destroyed Spencer Reid, and it had been _my _accomplishment. He hadn't done it, I had. He was complimenting me, and that vindication was something I hung onto. I wanted to meet this man. I wanted to meet whoever it was that delivered me Spencer Reid and made me feel like the most powerful person alive.

I had control over someone's entire psyche and they couldn't escape it. He couldn't face reality anymore because of what I had said and done. It was an intoxicating power that I couldn't ignore, it was thrumming inside of me, and I had the strongest sensation to help him stay solidified into Jason's persona. I never wanted to see Spencer Reid again; Jason was my creation – my boy. And my hands were what molded the clay that he was formed from.

"Your name isn't Jason…it's Spenc-" My patient's hands flew back to his ears and he was shaking his head, forcing back the voice of Prentiss as she tried to gently tell him the truth. He wanted nothing to do with what they were saying; he wanted my reality. He wanted my creation.

"Dr. Ryan, why don't you step outside with me for a moment." Rossi was back at my arm, and he was giving me a very encouraging look. If I didn't go with him voluntarily, this could be taken completely out of my control. My pulse quickened. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay and watch my creation flourish.

Time to play repentant doctor.

I nodded my head and followed him out, despite how painful it was to leave Jason's side; I forced myself to keep focused. I needed to. It was the only way to get them to agree for me to come with them wherever they went. I needed to be by his side- no matter what.

"I need you to tell me exactly what happened here, and how he ended up like this. What drugs were administered, etc." Rossi was giving me that look, the one that parents give to their children when they come home and find the house a mess and everyone's pointing fingers at each other. It's a look of disappointment and a promise of punishment. I know I have to be careful, because if I'm not, then I will go down for this even though I was just a tool in Isaiah's plans.

So I told him almost everything exactly the way it happened.

I told him that Jason was brought to us covered in blood and was delusional. I told him that two police officers had dragged him to our front gates and he was rushed into our clinic and cared for until he could be transferred to our psych ward. I told him how we had been given a file from the police with everything that he's done and everything that he thinks he's done.

I explained thoroughly what that file contained, and what procedures were taken. He was diagnosed, and treated for paranoid schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder. Quetiapine was given at first, and when that didn't work a series of other drugs followed switching back and forth from atypical to typical until eventually Clozapine was chosen.

His father had come to visit twice, and the first time Jason had not responded well to his presence. He started to pull away, insist that he was the man who hurt him and put him in here, insisted that he was evil. He had needed to be sedated, and several rounds of counseling and therapeutic discussion were needed before eventually he rationalized that the delusion of his kidnapping and forced imprisonment was simply a manifestation of his anger towards his father for always leaving and never staying.

The second time Isaiah came, was three weeks ago. Jason seemed like the perfect dutiful son. He listened to him patiently and was declared an absolute success. Isaiah had wanted to leave with him, but the standard time to monitor possible side effects of Clozapine hadn't been up yet. The six-month waiting period just ended…today.

"And what side effects did he get?" Rossi asked, his tone lethal. I licked my lips, tempted to lie but knowing that I couldn't. It would all come out in the end.

"Mainly CNS disturbances. As you saw when we first entered his room, he has has difficulty sleeping, the night staff has reported nightmares. He was easily agitated, although that has faded in recent months. Occasionally he's had a few seizures and myoclonic jerks. Every once and a while he's suffered from vertigo and confusion. Those are a bit more rare but they do happen. Only for a short period of time did his psychosis worsen, but the more he was on the regimen the less he adhered to his delusions."

"But they weren't delusions were they? It was the truth." Rossi's voice washed over me, and I bit my lip.

"Yes…it was the truth." I cast my eyes downwards.

"I we stopped his daily doses of Clozapine, what would happen?"

"Major withdrawal and severe problems. His mental capabilities may decompose permanently and his physical movements may become less fluid. He won't be able to function properly. Parts of his brain may even deteriorate. He'd need to be put onto a reduction plan where smaller and smaller doses are given so that he isn't overwhelmed. There will still be effects, but it won't be as strong as going cold turkey." He nodded. I looked back towards the room, desperate to know what they were talking about, what was happening. I wanted to know what they were saying to Jason and how he was replying. "Sir…" I needed to word this carefully. "I honestly believed him to be just another patient suffering from severe psychosis."

"I understand." And it looked like he did. "This wasn't your fault." I felt vindicated at that, so I kept going.

"I know that this may be too much to ask, but Jason-Spencer, I mean." It burned to say that. "I'm the only doctor he's responded to…because we have a relationship already, it might be easier to his recovery if I counsel him through it."

"We'll be taking him back to Quantico." He told me, eyebrows arched. I licked my lips. It was now or never.

"Sir, I tore down the mental barriers of that man's mind, and made him believe that he was living a life that doesn't exist. If I don't help in some way then I have failed in both my duties as a doctor and a human being. I need to be able to help, in some way. Please?" He didn't seem entirely convinced. "I'll go with you to Quantico, anything, but you don't understand how much of a failure I've become tonight…I need to fix that, _please_?"

Rossi looked at me sternly, his eyes running over me in a way that made me shiver. He wasn't impressed with my speech, but I knew that my words affected him in some way. I knew that he understood the pains of failure and the need to do what was right. I knew that it was only a matter of time.

"If Reid wants you there, and the team agrees that it may be for the best, then I'll consider it. It depends on what Reid wants, and frankly, I don't think he'll want you anywhere near him."

I nodded in understanding, and when he turned to reenter the room, I couldn't help but smile. Rossi didn't understand. I'd created Jason, and I knew exactly what he would say. I was the one constant in his life right now, the one thing that kept him grounded. He would want me there, and he'll beg them to take me with them. I was the only way he was getting out of this hospital in a calm state of mind. He would be in a total panic if they tried to just drag him out. I knew; I had won the first round.

* * *

><p>I walked back to my office while the Agents were preparing Jason to leave. This was the only time that I would have to collect my things and prepare myself for the long journey ahead. I needed to keep my head on straight, and I needed to make sure that everything was perfect.<p>

Walking towards my desk, I lifted the phone to my ear, and I dialed Aaron Hotchner's number that Isaiah Masters had rerouted all those months ago. I already knew what to say and how to plan around this. I knew everything.

"Hello?" I smiled when Hotchner did not pick up.

"I know who you are. The FBI have come for Jason, and they'll be taking him out of here."

"I know." Of course he would, he left the note.

"You've taken credit for something that I have done." The man started to laugh on the other end of the line.

"Are you proud of yourself?" He asked, his voice silky smooth. I processed my thoughts.

"Yes."

"It's intoxicating…isn't it?"

"Yes." I breathed the word out, my mind filling with countless images.

Spencer Reid being strapped to a bed, his voice screaming that it wasn't necessary to do this.

Spencer Reid being injected with an antipsychotic that he didn't even need.

Spencer Reid being completely compliant as he parroted every word I said, his mind spinning too much to be able to make sense of anything.

Spencer Reid becoming Jason Masters – my creation; my puppet.

"I'm travelling with them to Quantico."

"You can't let him go can you?"

"No." I couldn't. He'd become an addiction, and addiction I needed in order to survive. I wanted to control him; I wanted to make him mine in every way.

"I know you can't…why are you calling me?" He asked, very interested.

"I want your help, I want to meet you."

"So you can lead the FBI to me?"

"So I can keep what's mine, _mine_." He started to laugh, his voice deep and entertained. I remember what Isaiah looked like. He was old enough to be my father, and yet there was something unique about him. There was danger in his eyes. Right now, with my adrenaline pulsing through my veins, I wanted a taste of that danger. I wanted to know what it was like.

"I'll find _you_, when it's time. Keep an eye on your boy, soon everything will work out just the way you wanted it to."

There was a click, and the call was over. I placed the phone back on the receiver, and I sat down in my chair. My world was spinning around me, and I didn't care, I could only think about one person, and what it was like to control that one person. I wanted more, so much more, but I would have to wait.

I gathered my things quietly, and met the Agents in the hall. Jason was dressed in a new pair of clothes and I had to hide my disgust at seeing him in anything except for his uniform, in anything except something I'd chosen for him. I didn't like it; I didn't like it at all.

He was wearing jeans, a striped collared shirt, and a burgundy sweater. I have no idea how they managed to get him to change his clothes, but he looked uncomfortable and unhappy. He had his eyes downcast and he was fidgeting. His agitation that we'd been mastering for the past two years was returning. He kept twitching his head to one side, and his body couldn't seem to remain still. He looked like he might cry.

"Jason…?" His head looked up, and his eyes were pleading with me. He wanted to go back to his cell, he wanted to return to the life he knew, the life that was good and safe and free from all of the stressors these Agents were putting on him. He wanted to stay with me. I needed to disappoint him, because I knew we couldn't stay here. We would leave, just the two of us, soon enough, but now we needed to abide by their rules.

"Is my dad here?" He asked again, tugging on his shirtsleeves and looking entirely too awkward in the outfit.

"No Jason, but we're going to go someplace where he'll be." I gave him a smile, and the corners of his lips started to angle upwards.

"Really?"

"Really, Jason." The Agents were watching me, but I kept going. They didn't need to know that I wasn't actually lying. They didn't need to know that I wasn't actually playing to his fantasy – my fantasy. All they needed to think about right then, was that I could have him come with me, and that meant I was irreplaceable. They needed me with him or he wouldn't cooperate. He trusted me that much, and he didn't trust them at all. I held out my hand, and he didn't hesitate, he reached forwards and he took it. "Ready to go?" I asked, looking at the Agents.

They glanced amongst each other for a moment, before nodding and leading the way out of the building. They formed almost a protective box around us. I knew that it was just their way to feel useful, but I didn't care about that. All I cared about was Jason. He was shifting closer to my side; his face troubled as he looked at the people he'd long ago decided weren't real. They were too close, and their presence was making him uncomfortable.

I squeezed his hand, his perfect hand, and he pressed his arm against mine. If he could have fallen into me he would have, and I would have accepted him gladly. He was mine, and I wasn't going to let anyone else have him. I wasn't going to let anyone else take him away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Windstar: **Thank to the wonderful people who have been reading and reviewing this story. Words can not describe how much I enjoy reading each and every one of your responses - they make me delighted and encouraged each time I read them. I hope you enjoy this new installment, and thank you once again.

**Chapter Three: **

It was going to take a long while for him to be finished with his drug reduction program. As it stood, that was the only part of Jason's life I could still really control. I was hoping to be able to stay in his apartment, care for him in an environment that he felt comfortable, but his team was so needy they wouldn't let him be.

They kept insisting that he stay with one of them, and I was cast out. It didn't matter though, if anything, it sealed their fate. Jason wasn't responding well to them, and many times I'd been told that he was just flat out ignoring their presence. He would keep to himself, and he wouldn't eat or drink anything they gave him. It took four days before they finally gave up and allowed me to do what I knew needed to be done.

When I discovered that they had obsessively cared for his apartment so that it would still be there when he got back from wherever he'd been taken, I'd been impressed with their loyalty. Now, I knew that I could use this to my advantage. I brought him inside the apartment and told the Agents that he really needed to do this alone. He needed to feel like he was one with his own space. It was psychobabble and it meant nothing. It was just an excuse to get him alone.

I sat him down at the couch, and pulled a chair up in front of the coffee table that separated us. I watched, and waited for him to slowly slip back into the familiar mindset that he'd adopted in my office.

This was his fantasy now; this was my fantasy. We shared it together, and he was mine once again. I saw all signs of weariness and distraction slip from his features as he stared up at me with complacent eyes. This was my Jason, my creation, and I was never more impressed in all my life.

"How do you feel today?" I asked him, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes and he was crying painfully.

"I want to go back to the hospital, they're wrong! This is all wrong! I'm not right!"

"Jason…you're still in the hospital." His teary gaze lifted to meet my eyes, and he stared up at me in wonder. "Jason, it may look different, but you're still there. These challenges are just things that you need to face."

"I need to face them?" He asked me, so trusting, so sweet. I had the strongest desire to reach out and touch his hands. They were sitting in his lap, twisting around and looking distorted once more. He was anxious, weary, he wanted this all to stop, and I wanted to help him stop it.

"Yes, they can't change you into anyone except yourself. You don't need to listen to them Jason. They're not in control of you."

"You'll never leave me alone with them again, right?" He was begging me; he didn't want to stay with them. I nodded my head. I couldn't help myself. I reached out and I touched his hands. They quickly grasped onto me, and I felt a surge or power. I had him completely to myself. He was _mine_.

"I'll stay with you as long as you want me to." He nodded his head, accepted that as true, and stared up at me with wide eyes. "Tell me what bothers you the most about these people, Jason." He chewed on his bottom lip, and looked even more childlike in his innocence.

His hair was starting to grow back, and I longed to take a razorblade to it. I longed to keep it short. I'd have to ask him if that was alright. I knew that he'd answer in the affirmative, and so I planned to gather the materials to do it.

"They keep trying to get me to be someone I'm not." He decided finally. I nodded my head, and indulged in stroking his long fingers.

"Go on…"

"They want me to be Spencer Reid, but I'm not Spencer Reid. He's bad and I can't be him. I won't be him. It's not right to be him. I don't even know what they're talking about!"

"That's true Jason, it's very good of you to understand that. You're very brave to stand up to them." He was beaming at my encouragement and I reached forwards to pat his cheek. I never could have done this in the office, but now I saw him for what he was. He was my clay, and I had molded him. Every part of him was mine, and that desire to touch, possess, control – had grown exponentially.

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked me, his voice was wavering slightly and I couldn't help but smile.

"Continue being who you are, they can't change you unless you let them. You're not Spencer Reid, right?"

"Right…" He nodded, he had a sleepy expression on his face and he looked so peaceful now. I grinned up at him.

"So don't worry about doing anything or being anything except who you are. You're perfect just the way you are." He smiled shyly and I knew that he believed in me.

"Melissa…why do they think I'm Spencer Reid?" My patient had long ago forgotten anything and everything about Reid's life. He'd forced those memories into the background of his mind and placed it in a zone that was inaccessible. It had been my greatest accomplishment at the time, and the Agents had been racking their brain over how to get him to realize that he really was the good doctor.

Dissociative Fugue states usually happen randomly and without known cause, but I had created the cause. I had made him believe without question that he was not Spencer Reid and then, all he'd needed to do was forget about it. The trauma of my facility had been too much, and he'd readily created a mental barrier between that life and the one I'd created.

"These people want revenge on your father. They don't like him, and they will do anything to make him hurt. If he comes near you and they find out about it, they'll take him away." Panic crossed Jason's face and he shook his head.

"No! No! They can't! Dad didn't do anything wrong, I'm the bad one!"

"No, Jason…you're good. You're very good. _Spencer Reid _is the bad one, and you're not him." The young man nodded his head, he understood me, and I smiled. Everything was exactly the way it should be, Jason was still mine, and he always would be.

* * *

><p>Time passed slowly, but the days drifted into weeks and my reign over Jason only grew.<p>

The FBI wasn't too thrilled with Jason's 'recovery,' and when I looked over him, I knew that he wasn't too thrilled with their continued attempts at attachment. They were always hovering, and the lack of privacy was enough to send him into a frustrated loop. He wasn't happy, and he was making it known clearly by continually glaring and scowling whenever they came near.

I sat beside him in one of the FBI offices, and the Agents kept trying to talk to him and get him to answer them. He pulled away from their continued attention, and scowled at them. Every time they said Reid's name, he curled in on himself and became more defensive. They weren't getting anywhere, and they were more then a little frustrated.

"Dr. Ryan, I'd like a word with you." Hotchner stated calmly as he approached where we were sitting. I looked over towards Jason, and saw the look of panic that was crossing his face. He didn't want to be left alone, especially not in this place where he was so totally off his game. "It will only be for a few moments." The stern faced man assured, and Jason bit his lip. He was practically pleading with me to stay with him, but I knew that I couldn't indulge him, not here.

"I'll be back soon." I promised, and he nodded his head ever so slowly. He trusted my word, and I trusted that Hotchner would keep his.

I followed the man up the stairs and into his office, but the whole while I kept an eye on where my boy was. The other Agents were still sitting around him, chatting away and trying to pull him into their conversations.

"Thank you for coming in today, have a seat." I felt like my father was talking to me again, and I pressed my lips together. I would really prefer it if these agents would just treat me like I was a competent human being as well. Instead, I felt as though I was being talked down to and I couldn't feel any better about this if I tried. "It's been just over a month since we brought Reid home, but instead of a productive change, we've seen no change, and the result has gotten us worried."

"I understand that this is a difficult time, but I must assure you- mental health is a matter of time. There's a lot of waiting that needs to be done before any results can truly be seen." Hotchner didn't look impressed, so I pushed the topic. "I know that this is a difficult topic, but when Spencer was first in my care, it took nearly a year for any change to be seen." The agent nodded curtly at that, and sighed.

He angled his head down towards his desk and I peered towards it. There were several photographs there, most of them were of the team before Jason had come into my care, and I filed them into my mind for further analysis later. There were other files and paperwork littered in neat piles here and there, but on the whole it was rather bland and professional.

"The team has decided on a different course of action, and we believe that it may have a beneficial effect on Reid."

"Sir, if I may, the _team _is half the problem. Their insistence on him being exactly like he was before is not helping him in the slightest. If there is going to be any change at all _he _needs to decide to make that change." There were stress lines on Hotchner's forehead, and he looked like he wanted to say something foul but held himself back. Whatever he censored, the result was a soft-spoken question that was insistent in its pain.

"And Reid decided to change?" I couldn't answer that one without causing more pain then was entirely necessary, and so I stayed silent. He continued after a moment. "We understand the need for change, and we also understand the need for a gradual ease into his old life. It took us a while to track him down, but we found someone who has a personal attachment to Reid that has agreed to stay with you."

"No." The word jumped from my mouth before I could stop it, and my heart thundered in my chest for a while as I realized my mistake. Hotchner was staring up at me with raised eyebrows and was giving me a look that all but decided I was out of my own mind.

"No?" He asked me, seriously, and I hurried with an explanation.

"Everyone keeps trying to crowd him. It makes him uncomfortable, and he can't get better if he's stressed."

"We believe differently."

"Well I'm sorry, but you're wrong." I couldn't believe the nerve of this man.

"In the end, it isn't your choice, is it?" I blinked, hardly believing what I was hearing. I tried to rationalize exactly what he was saying, and it took me a moment to realize that he actually thought that Jason had a say in this. He would do whatever I thought was best, and that was all there was about it. "It's up to Reid." I turned my head to look towards Jason, and froze when I saw he was missing from his seat.

Leaping to my feet, I gaped. He wasn't anywhere to be seen. Turning back to Hotchner I prepared myself for a long diatribe. How _dare _they take my patient away from me? How _dare_ they do this? The condescending man just stood up slowly and motioned for me to follow him.

I did so, and we descended down the stairs into the dark caverns of a floor I didn't think many people ever ventured to. He led me to a door, and inside it was an eccentric looking woman with the craziest blonde hair I've ever seen. "Garcia, can you get the security camera for the conference room for me?" Hotchner asked her, and instantly the woman started typing away on her keyboard until an image appeared before us.

My boy was the first thing I saw. He was sitting at a desk looking entirely too uncomfortable. He was hunched over and rubbing his arms unconsciously. His eyes were angled downwards, and in front of him was an older man with a sad face. It was drawn, and had a distinct pallor of exhaustion over it.

There was a coffee machine, a mini fridge, and a few other quick drink fixings here and there on the side of the room. On the other wall there was a window seat and a chessboard that was already set up. A few plants here or there gave the room an ambient sensation. I didn't care though, I was staring at the people inside of it, and the rest of the room didn't matter.

"How are you making out?" The man was asking, looking Jason over with a practiced eye. I expected Jason to stay silent and not answer, but he hugged his body closer and mumbled a response I couldn't understand. Whatever it was though, it made the older man smile ever so slightly and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. "They can be a bit overbearing at times."

"They all want something I'm not." He told him, his voice a little bit more clear. The older man didn't seem bothered by this though, and just motioned for him to continue.

"And what aren't you?"

"I'm _not _Spencer Reid, and I'm not just going to turn into him." Jason's voice was firm, and I struggled to not show my glee at this triumph. Somehow I just knew that Agent Hotchner was looking at me, and not the tapes.

"That's fine." The man told him, before standing up and moving over towards a table on the side of the room where a coffee machine was sitting. "Do you want some?"

"I don't like coffee." He replied, and I marveled at how open he was to speaking with this person. With everyone else he was closed off, insecure. He wouldn't dare open his mouth around them. This is the first time he'd truly spoken with anyone besides me since we left the hospital, and I felt myself burst with rage.

"Can I get you anything else?" The man seemed genuinely interested, and my boy actually paused and lifted his head up just enough to get a good look at the person standing in front of him.

"Water?" The man nodded and opened up a mini-fridge off to the side. He pulled out a bottle, and slid it along the table towards my boy. Jason caught it with a fumble and then stared at it for a long while.

"What's your name?" The man asked, breaking through his thoughts. He looked up again, frowning slightly.

"Jason." He replied evenly. That drew a sad smile from the man's face, and my patient looked confused. He bit his lip, and fidgeted slightly as he looked at him.

"That's my name too." I felt my breath get sucked from my body. _No way!_ Looking over towards Hotchner, I verified the fact he was staring straight at me. He was gauging my reactions. I didn't know what to say to this though. I had been told by my patient, that this man had just left and no one knew where he was or how to find him. Clearly, he never tried very hard because these people _had _found him. Apparently, they found him, and he still cared enough about _Spencer_ to come back and chat.

"Really?" My boy was looking all too eager now, and I felt a sickening sensation roll through my stomach. I knew that in these settings, with him away from me, he very well _could _choose to let the man stay with us. I knew very well that he _could _make that decision. I wasn't there to guide him; he would never know he'd made the wrong choice. Anger was coursing through me and I hated them for doing this.

"Jason Gideon." The man gave a slight smile, and I wondered if he was thinking about how bizarre it was to introduce yourself to your own protégé, someone you had trained and taught for five years before vanishing off the face of the earth. He was holding his hand out, and I held my breath. My boy had _never _voluntarily touched these people. They'd always been the one grabbing and petting and hovering. He'd never initiated contact.

He too was staring at the hand that had been offered, but instead of shying away as he usually did, something inside him compelled him to reach out and take the man's hand. It was a brief contact, and the whole while Jason's body language was screaming retreat, but he allowed the handshake and then pulled away.

An insensible surge of jealousy coursed through me. Another person had touched his hands, and I wanted to bludgeon Gideon with a blunt object. How _dare _he? No one touched him except for me, and no one had personal conversations like this. _I _was his psychiatrist, _I _was the one who asked his questions and got him to talk. All his answers and his mind belonged to me alone, and I couldn't help but feel my teeth begin to grit as this bastard encroached upon my territory. How _dare _he?

"Why don't you tell me about yourself?" Gideon offered, and I watched as my boy nibbled his bottom lip and tried to understand what it was he was supposed to say.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't know?"

"I don't even know why you're talking to me." Jason offered weakly, hugging his body closer to him and glancing off to the side.

"No one's going to know how to talk to you, or treat you, if you don't tell us more about yourself." That made my boy distinctly uncomfortable, and he turned back to look at Gideon. "If you talk to us, we can start treating you the way you want to be treated."

"I don't like being called Spencer or Reid. It's not me." He told him definitively. Gideon nodded.

"We've already covered that." A slight blush crossed my boy's features, and he chewed his bottom lip even as his hands reached out to pick up the Poland Springs bottle before him. His nails started to dig into the paper as he twisted it in his hands.

"I…I don't know what to say…" He offered at long last, so Gideon decided to give him a break.

"What do you like to do? Do you like to read?" That was a question geared solely for Spencer himself. I knew the correct answer, but I also knew which one Jason would give. From the moment he'd adopted this new identity, anything that Spencer had liked, he'd hated.

"No." His voice was soft, but it was firm. Gideon didn't change his expression any; he just kept going.

"Do you play any games?"

"Like what?"

"Anything; cards, monopoly, chess." The man motioned towards the small black and white chess set that was sitting under the window, and for the first time it seemed like Jason saw the board. He had kept his head down and turned away from it the whole while, but now he was looking at it, and I felt my breath get stolen from me.

From this angle, I could just see my boy's face. He was still. His eyes had suddenly turned glossy and he was staring up at Gideon with a vacant expression. His arms had fallen from the table to his sides, and for a moment, I had a horrifying fear that something the man said had snapped him out of his Fugue and he'd been thrust immediately into the memory and mind of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He wouldn't remember anything about Jason the moment that that happened. The last thing he would recall was his last day as Spencer Reid. Everything that took place in the interim would disappear and I would be nothing except an insistent doctor who kept telling him he didn't exist. Dissociative Fugues were almost impossible to predict, and correcting them or keeping them the way they were, was almost as impossible.

I knew deep inside that if they kept pushing the right buttons, eventually the break would happen, and he would shift back into his true mind, but I couldn't stand the idea of it. I had created this man, and I wanted to keep him that way.

"Jason?" Gideon asked gently, reaching a hand out to touch my boy's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Chess?" The word slipped from his mouth even as he blinked away the haze and shook his head to clear his thoughts. "I've never played."

The woman that was controlling the computers, Garcia, gasped suddenly at that. I turned my head and looked at her. Hotchner's hand settled on her shoulder and he gave it a squeeze.

"He used to play?" I asked; I wanted to know everything that I needed to in order to keep him Jason and not revert.

"He played through every possible variation of a chess game." The woman told me, her voice breaking ever so slightly. She was going to start to cry. I was still stuck on exactly what she said though.

"That's…an infinite amount of games…" Now she definitely was crying, because she turned to me and shook her head. Her fingers reached under her glasses to wipe away her tears.

"No, t's just _exponentially large_." Hotchner murmured as he ran a hand on her back, soothing her as she tried to gain control of herself.

I glanced back at the monitors, and I watched that bastard of a man scoot a chair closer to my boy and sit down beside him. I hated how easily he could tell what to say and what not to say. I hated how comfortable Jason was in his presence compared to the other members of the team. I hated how I knew that the only reason that this was acceptable to my boy; was because Gideon had played such an important role on his life. The man knew everything about Spencer Reid, and as a master profiler, he knew everything there was to know about finding the right entry points. Fugue state or not, it was an instinctive reaction to feel more comfortable around someone that was close – a family member.

To Spencer Reid, Gideon had been a father figure he'd never had as a child. He'd been a mentor and a guardian. To Jason, Gideon was just a man who knew what to say and could easily clear everything up for him. He was just one other person he could talk to besides me, and I hated him for it. I was desperate to keep them apart, because I just knew…that maybe if it wasn't now…_soon _Gideon would find the right thing to say and Jason would disappear in the blink of an eye.

"Do you want to learn?" Gideon offered easily.

"I wouldn't be good at it." Jason declared, and the man actually did laugh at that. My boy looked confused, but Gideon just raised up a hand and shook his head.

"Anyone can be good at chess, it's a matter of practice. Come on, it's a good way to pass the time."

"What are we waiting for?" Jason asked, sounding oddly like a child in a deer blind. I could imagine him sitting there beside his father, the older man looking out into the woods, and the boy finally giving up and deciding nothing was going to come. It was spoken with a whisper and a whine, and yet even I could tell the childlike excitement that had bubbled there. He wanted to know what was going to happen next, and like a man who reads the last page of a book first, he was all too thrilled with the possibility.

"For Hotch to be finished with your doctor friend." The man said even as he stood up and collected the board and pieces. He carried it carefully over towards Jason, and my boy looked a bit disappointed. "You want to do something else?" Gideon asked easily.

"Can't do it here." My boy replied, voice sullen.

"What do you _want _to do?" Jason hesitated for a moment, before taking a deep breath and replying shyly:

"There was this commercial on TV, for a movie. Melissa said it wasn't going to be very good, but I wanted to see it." A surge of anger coursed through me. _My boy _was overtly going behind my back to do something. I was in control here, I was the one who made him who he was today; how _dare _he sneak around without my express permission. How _dare _he?

I felt like my child had pit me against my husband. I felt like he was playing good guy bad guy. If one parent said no, the other might say yes. I knew without even knowing Gideon that he would say yes. He wanted to form a relationship with Jason, a bond with this new person. He would agree to go to the movie, and trust would begin to form.

"What movie?" He gave the title, and Gideon grinned knowingly.

"I saw it not too long ago, it's actually not to bad if you can forgive a lot of science goofs."

"Who cares if they get it right or not, if the plot's good? That, and that actress is beautiful..." The man was nodding his head, although there was a secret smile on his face and I just knew that he was inwardly amused by the idea of Jason going to see this movie where Spencer Reid probably would have thrown a fit.

"If Dr. Ryan doesn't mind making a pit-stop on the way home, we can go see it when she's done." I fumed angrily. Suddenly I was the bad guy, and Gideon had purposefully geared it in that direction. It was the first time that Jason was exposed to this level of mind fucking, and I hated the ex-FBI agent with greater intensity.

I was going to be forced to let Jason go see the movie, because if I didn't, a rift would form between us. He would go to Gideon for things when he knew I'd say no to them. He was going to start making choices I couldn't control, and I was infuriated. My fists were clenched at my sides, and I wanted nothing more then to reach through the monitor and end that bastard's life before he did any more damage.

Gideon was now explaining the pieces of the chessboard, and I watched as my boy looked at each one with bored and careless interest. He didn't seem to want to play at all, but when they got started, I noticed how the game suddenly didn't look like a boy who just learned how to play.

His eyes didn't even seem to be focused on the pieces he was moving. Instead, he was shifting them around and gazing off to the side at the same time. Somewhere along the way, he'd put his head in his hand and just started to move pieces at random – I was certain of it. He just moved a piece, sighed, and moved another.

The whole experience last fifteen minutes; at which point Gideon stopped moving and gave the board an appraising look. "That's checkmate, Jason."

"Told you I wasn't going to be good at it." My boy replied blandly, not even looking at the set up. He was fidgeting again; his eyes were wandering. It was what he always did when he honestly and truly just wanted to leave and never look back.

"No, you checkmated me." I felt my breath get stolen from me, and my boy whipped his head around so fast I thought he'd have whip lash. He looked down at the board, and he stared at it.

All the pieces were looking up at him, and he took them each in one at a time. I didn't even think he was breathing. He just stared at them like they were going to come up and bite him.

"You let me win." He accused darkly, looking up at Gideon with an angry expression.

"No I didn't." The man refuted.

"I wasn't even looking where I was putting the pieces, it was random."

"A very good guess then." He shrugged, not seeming to care about how utterly ridiculous that sounded. "Play me again if you don't think I'm telling you the truth."

Anger and frustration was clouding my boy's face as his hands quickly replaced all of the pieces onto the board. He set them up, and then stared at them with greater concentration. I could tell that _this time _he wasn't going to be ignoring the whole process.

Gideon was the first to move, and he slid up his pawn two spaces forward. Jason quickly moved another piece, and it seemed like he was falling back into the pattern of just moving at random and not really concentrating on what he was doing. For every time Gideon made a move, he returned with an even quicker response. They seemed to be going faster and faster, until at long last, Jason froze and looked at the board.

"Checkmate…?" He asked blankly, hardly understanding what had just happened. Scowling, he looked away from it. "This game is either too easy or your letting me win."

"You just have good intuition." Gideon replied, shaking his head. "Play again?" They did, and once again the rapid movements of pieces and the quick removal of those that were captured echoed through the room. I stared at them, hardly believing what I was seeing, and then it happened: "Checkmate." Jason lost.

My boy blinked, and stared at the board, and suddenly his face turned frustrated. "Again?" He asked, and Gideon obliged. He set up the pieces and they went through another game. Every time it had been finished, they reset the pieces and played another round. They went through fast rounds, slow rounds. They kept going on and on and it was intoxicating to watch.

The skill of these two combatants was difficult to ignore, and as I looked at them, I felt panic coursing through me. Every time Jason won, it was because he was moving on instinct and wasn't truly aware of where his hand was moving the pieces. Every time he lost, it was because he was thinking too hard on what it was he was supposed to be doing.

In translation: Spencer Reid, and his life time worth of chess knowledge, was drifting out of his cage and slipping into the instinctive reactions of Jason. Spencer Reid knew how to play chess, and he was used to competing against Gideon. This, to him, was a familiar and comfortable exercise. Jason wasn't used to playing, and he was still just learning, in truth. When he wasn't thinking about the pieces, he was excelling, and when he was, he failed.

This was the first time that I knew for certain, Spencer Reid was still alive in Jason's body and he was thrashing against the mental barriers he'd set up. It was only a matter of time before he finally kicked hard enough to break the wall down, and my creation would disappear forever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Windstar: **Thank you so much to my wonderful reviewers. I really and truly appreciate your kind and encouraging words. Here is the next installment of this story.

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one.

**Chapter Four: **

I knew it would happen, but it was still a surprise to me when Jason informed me that he would truly like it if Gideon stayed with us while he was visiting. I couldn't help but feel like everyone was conspiring against me. Jason was insistent that he wanted to keep playing Gideon in chess, and the man didn't seem to care at all that he was playing eight straight hours of chess almost every day.

My boy was insistent on learning how to actually play correctly, and he seemed that he realized that his intuition was better then his conscious thought. The idea of it was enough to drive him into a frenzy and he spent hours working on how to get better and how to rationalize the concepts of the game.

When Gideon had given him a book on chess, I had lost my breath and a huge burst of terror had gone through me. I had hoped beyond hope that he would retreat back to his original idea of hating books, but when Gideon promised it would help him to understand the game better, he'd thrown himself into the book and hadn't taken himself out until five minutes, _five minutes, _later when he had already finished the thousand page tome.

I had been disgusted, aggravated, and yet I couldn't say anything about it. If I did, then everyone would know that something was wrong. The idea was to make him Spencer Reid again, and in two short days, Gideon had gotten him back into reading and was having him play chess like a pro. It was more then I'd accomplished in over a month, and there was nothing I could do or say against his actions.

They didn't want Jason, I did, and it was only a matter of time before they got their doctor back. I felt a surge of hatred pouring through me, but I couldn't do anything except for wait. I needed to bide my time. Isaiah had yet to contact me, and I knew that eventually he would and I could keep my boy forever. It was just a matter of time.

So I patiently waited and forced myself to take a deep breath and bide my time.

They were talking to each other so easily now, and I couldn't help but feel completely and utterly at a loss. He'd never spoken to me about these topics, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy. He was so at ease and open with Gideon, and all it had taken was several hundred games of chess to do it.

Gideon didn't seem to mind that Jason was Jason and not Spencer, and the easygoing acceptance was infuriating. I was the one who wanted Jason just the way he was, and no one else! But this man, he just took everything he said and slowly yet surely was reintroducing him to the life of Dr. Reid. Instead of rejecting it…Jason was accepting it, and acting as though everything was completely natural.

"Have you ever gone fishing?" Gideon asked him, as he moved his queen across the board. Jason looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding.

"My dad took my mom and I before the accident."

"Did you like it?"

"I don't know." He shrugged slightly, and moved his rook. "Check." He had a small smile on his face and he looked up at the man with a content expression.

"I have a cabin not too far from here, it's isolated and away from all the noise of the city."

"Those people…from the FBI, they won't be there?"

"Not unless you want them to." He was giving Jason a knowing look though, and no one was surprised when he shook his head.

"No." Gideon moved another piece, and then held up his hands.

"Checkmate." Jason nodded, a disgruntled expression on his features as he began to reset the board. "What is it about them that bothers you so much?"

"The Feds?" Gideon nodded, and Jason shrugged. "They're loud, and they keep trying to touch me. They expect me to be Spencer Reid so much, they won't let me just be me."

"They miss him."

"I don't even know who he is." Jason sighed, shaking his head. "They just have the wrong guy."

"Do you want to know about him?" For a moment, I was certain he was going to say no. Everything that was related to that person had been considered bad and evil since the moment I'd taken Jason in. I was certain he was going to disagree. But he surprised me, and he nodded. "What do you want to know?"

"Who was he?"

"He was an FBI Agent, like the others."

"Did you know him?"

"Very well." At this, Jason got distinctly uncomfortable. His fingers hesitated over his chess pieces, and his whole body language screamed retreat. He looked like he wanted nothing better then to get up and run right now.

"You don't think I'm him?" He asked as he finally lifted his eyes up to face the man he'd been spending all his days with lately.

"No." The word was resigned, but honest. "You're not him."

"So why are you spending all your time with me?"

"Because I want to get to know you."

"Why?"

"You may not be him, but you remind me of him, and sometimes an old man like me just likes to be surrounded by friendly faces, even if they're not the same people they once knew." It was a vague answer, but he accepted it for what it was. Jason nodded and motioned for him to continue.

"What was he like?"

"He was awkward, he wasn't too sure of himself when it came to social situations, but he was unfailingly honest and kind. He would have done anything and everything to help anyone in need." Jason was hanging onto every word, and I felt my hands shaking at my sides. "He was foolish though, and had no sense of self preservation. He'd throw his own safety to the wind if it meant saving someone from harm. He was extremely intelligent, but he used it as a defense so that no one would get too close to him. When he made friends, they stayed that way, and he'd do anything for them."

"You liked him." Jason stated evenly, and Gideon nodded sadly.

"He was like a son to me."

"You never told him."

"No, I never did." The man looked so sad at that, and I felt my heart my heart burst for him. It was an emotion that I pushed off. Returning Spencer Reid to this man meant that Jason would be gone forever, and I couldn't do that. I couldn't accept that.

"I'm sorry." The sad part was that I honestly felt that Jason believed that too. The older man just nodded his head and kept his gaze focused on the chess game they were playing.

* * *

><p>Gideon's cabin became the home that Jason always wanted. It was deep in the wilderness, and away from anyone coming and going. It was a place that Jason instinctively fell in love with, and he threw his belongings into a room and practically fell in love.<p>

Gideon would tell me later that he'd had paperwork drawn up ages ago to sign the cabin over to Spencer Reid in the first place. He'd only returned one time after he'd walked away from the FBI, he hadn't been surprised in the least to discover that one of the spare bedrooms had been lived in. It was the same bedroom that Jason had claimed.

When I checked the room afterwards, I stared at the surroundings in numb silence. There were books everywhere, a hand carved wooden chess set sat on a paper filled desk, and there was a chest of items that could only be described as a magician's toolbox.

Inside there were various collapsible bottles, tubes, cloths, a wand, and even some nonsensical trinkets that I couldn't make out. There were four decks of cards - each one with a trick or a specific trait that made it stand out compared to the rest. I shook my head at the box, disgusted by the childishness of the chest.

When I turned to walk out of the room, Gideon cut off my retreat. The agent was looking at me with that same quiet and reserved expression he wore for the every day dealings of life. I'd seen him adopt many faces in Jason's presence; from doting father, to concerned parent, to patient friend…he'd worn many masks. Jason soaked up the attention he freely gave, and yet it was like a man who could never state his thirst being presented an endless amount of water. He always wanted more, and I wondered if Gideon would eventually break from the tiresome existence.

His mind must have been sorely exhausted from playing so many hours of chess, but he never complained. He was always willing to give more for Jason, and I had to wonder if eventually he would run out of energy.

"When you graduate high school at twelve, you never have time to be a kid." Gideon stated evenly, as he approached the chest full of toys and illusionary tactics. His hand traced the leather box with an almost loving grace. "This was one of the ways he could act his own age."

"Why do you spend so much time with Jason?" I asked him at long last, determined to find an answer to my questions.

"I promised Reid I'd be there for him if he ever needed me." The answer seemed fairly simple, but I couldn't help the retort.

"But Reid doesn't need you, Jason isn't Reid." I knew I had incriminated myself the moment that Gideon's eyes narrowed, and I felt my pulse quicken. He was looking over me with the practiced eye of a federal profiler, and I knew that what he said now would determine how much time I had left. If Isaiah didn't contact me soon, I would lose my boy forever.

"Reid, Jason, it doesn't matter. I will be there for him."

"You left though, you walked away from him and the FBI and you never looked back." He winced slightly, and nodded.

"Yes…that's true, but I was always a phone call away-"

"Just like his father, if he ever wanted to talk to him." Gideon's face darkened. "We talked about his father once, and he compared your departure to his. Those were _his _words, not mine."

"I made a mistake."

"This is too little too late."

"I'll leave the moment he wants me to, and I'll come back the moment he asks. You can't change that." He moved passed me, only stopping once to let me know that dinner was ready and that Jason made it. I scowled darkly at his back, but followed him into the kitchen.

For the past few days, Gideon had expanded my boy's horizons. He'd taken him out to the lake every day and they'd caught bass together. I can still remember the blindingly bright smile on his face as he showed it to me. He was in such delight that I couldn't bring myself to be too angry at Gideon.

The negative feelings came fully from the fact that he had been the one to do this. He had been the one to make Jason feel anything, and once more I felt as though my control was slipping. Jason didn't want to spend every moment with me any longer; he didn't need me anymore. He was perfectly content hanging onto every word that his namesake said, and I couldn't help but feel more and more frustrated with each passing moment.

The last straw had been cooking. After discovering that my boy preferred bland foods with little flavor and very little additives, Gideon had taken it upon himself to teach him how to make his own meals. Slowly yet surely his tastes were starting to steer away from what he'd normally received at the hospital. The things he was enjoying to eat was drifting farther and farther from what I had usually given him.

In between chess matches, Jason would ask Gideon about spices, what each one meant what they were used for. He would ask about meat and how to prepare them properly, and the more questions he asked, the more Gideon would answer. Every so often he'd present a book to my boy with a shrug and a 'if you're interested' attached to it.

Jason would always take it from him and zip through it at mach speed; he didn't seem to realize that the normal person couldn't read 20,000 words a minute. He didn't seem to realize that Spencer Reid's abilities were slowly yet surely becoming commonplace for him to use and abuse at will.

I'd questioned him on it before, and he'd shyly told me that while he didn't like to read, he found the information useful. He then innocently expressed how it didn't take too much time away from what he wanted to do regardless, so it wasn't _that _bad. I saw fit to tell him then that I'd never met anyone else besides him who could read that fast and that it was all together bizarre.

He took the warning for what it was, and the next time Gideon offered him a book, he reminded the man that he honestly didn't like to read and that he didn't want to keep doing so whenever new information came up. Gideon accepted that, but casually replied that unfortunately sometimes people had to do things that they didn't like, and that it was the only way to get better at anything.

Neither mentioned it again, and Gideon stopped giving him books to read. I rejoiced at the small victory, but soon found the downfall of the situation. If Jason wasn't reading all the information about things, then the only way for him to learn was for him to spend more time with the ex-fed. The retired agent didn't seem to mind, but it drove me to distraction to see my boy relying so much on the man, and looking so innocent about it.

Tonight was his night though, and he'd asked Gideon if he wouldn't mind if he'd cooked. The man had let him have at it, and despite a few mishaps that involved several crashing pans – he was _horribly _uncoordinated, it seemed like things went relatively smoothly.

That was until I entered the domain and saw the long bandage around his left palm and a bruise on his cheek. I stared at him in stunned shock, and he immediately winced and made as though to hide his hand behind his back. I was to quick for him, and took hold of it.

"What happened?"

"I cut myself." He replied blandly, and I scowled. His ability to state the obvious was unparalleled, and we'd have to work on that.

"_How_?"

"With a knife…" He blinked, not understanding what I was getting at. I had the strongest desire to smack some sense into him, but Gideon was hovering behind my shoulder. I watched my boy lift his eyes and turn to him, almost pleading for some sort of assistance, and the man took pity on him.

"He had a potato in his hand, he cut it too deep and he hit his palm a bit. It's fine, and it didn't need stitches."

"And the eye?" I questioned, hatred pouring into me. Why was it that _he _knew what was going on, when I didn't?

"Slipped on the floor when I was done washing my hand, and hit the counter." He motioned towards the corner that jutted out at the end, and I had to take a deep breath.

"No more cooking for you." I murmured and I watched, as his face seemed to crumble slightly. He nodded his head somewhat, and then distractedly looked off to the side. For a moment I thought he might cry, but he didn't.

He awkwardly glanced over to where the pots were, he was biting his lip, and his hands had started to twist on the sleeves of his shirt. Gideon moved from behind me, and placed his own hand on Jason's shoulder. He gave it a squeeze before reaching out and starting to stock a plate full of food.

"Smells good." He smiled encouragingly at my boy, and I felt a surge of anger go through me. My boy was leaning towards him, practically glowing from the encouragement and looking so pleased with himself that I felt as though I had failed.

Gideon had easily and manipulatively gone forwards and gained Jason's trust. He'd done it with the blink of an eye, and he'd never looked back. He'd just stepped forwards and greeted my boy and had suddenly been declared his best friend. Jason loved him, and he practically glowed under the bastard's encouragement.

I hated how he always knew what to say. I hated how he could always tell what needed to be done and how to do it. I hated that Jason looked to him for advice and everything that I never gave him. When I tried, he shrank back, uncertain. He acted like an abused animal waiting to be struck.

He always did whatever I asked for, but he never looked at me with the same kind of devotion he gave for Gideon. He never looked at me like simply by my will alone he'd complete something. He acted from fear, from fear and faith that I always knew what was right. With Gideon though…he accepted the possibilities for taking risks. He accepted that the danger may come, and he was all right with that. He took the chances anyway.

This was just another example of how Gideon was worming his way into my boy's heart and soul. He just knew how to communicate with Jason, and he knew how to show the boy caring and concern. My boy soaked it up as though I never gave him any concern or love, but that wasn't true! That wasn't true at all!

But it didn't matter to my boy. My boy simply wished to have Gideon's approval and attention. My boy just wanted to know that Gideon still thought well of him. I could see in the way he acted, so casual and yet so earnest. He longed for the attention and the guidance the man gave. It made him feel safe and secure.

"He is right…it does look good. I just am worried about you. I want you to be safe." I reached out and touched my boy's cheek. A spark of electricity seemed to course through me. I burst with delight when I a shy smile crossed his features. He still needed me, and I needed to remember that. I needed to hold onto that. It was that small and simple fact that was going to get me through this.

We ate dinner together and pleasant conversation filled the emptiness of the cabin. It was raining outside, and every time there was a clap of thunder and a flash of lightening, my boy would tilt his head and look towards the window. I couldn't decipher what he was thinking about, and just as I was about to as him and try to understand what was on his mind, Gideon was speaking.

Everything seemed fine until the man asked Jason if he wanted to sit out on the back porch, watching the lightening storm as it danced across the lake. The small electric currents were a beautiful sight to behold if you ever saw them on the water, and Gideon seemed fairly confident that it was going to be a beautiful 'show.' Jason's eyes were wide with excitement, and I felt another surge of anger overcome me.

"It's dangerous, you could get sick." I saw him deflate almost instantly, and he nodded his head shyly – looking back at his food and keeping quiet. He didn't say another word for the rest of dinner.

It was then that I really looked at him. His hair was starting to grow in. I had wanted to cut it ages ago, but he had been resolute. I had nearly struck him I was so angry with him, but Gideon had been there the whole while, telling him to dress and look anyway he wanted to and that was fine.

At first I thought I had hated Spencer Reid, but now I realized that I truly hated Jason Gideon. The man was a complete bastard and he had turned my boy against me. I could see it happening. It was starting off small, but it was growing bigger. The urge to rebel was growing stronger in him, and it was making him act more and more like that horrible person – his true self.

After dinner, as a compromise, I let him watch another one of those God-awful movies he'd been enjoying. He was following the acting career of one actress in particular, a pretty blonde girl who was in a B flat beach series a few years ago. Gideon had been made aware of his obvious interest in the girl, and had seemed more then willing to buy the dvds and play them on the TV. He seemed ridiculously amused by the idea for some reason.

If I'd let him, Jason would spend hours watching her movies back to back. No sooner would one end then would he put in another. He was completely and utterly hooked on the various plot lines and adventures that Lila Archer acted in.

"Why do you like her so much?" I asked him, and suddenly a shy smile would cross his face and he'd look at me with a look that could only be described as embarrassment.

"She's beautiful." He told me for the thousandth time, and I couldn't help but feel more frustrated then ever before. I didn't care that she was beautiful, there would never be time or occasion for him to meet her. It was just the utter devotion he showed this meaningless actress. He'd never meet her; he'd never have the chance to. It was completely insensible.

What truly spurred me was the fact that he was showing more devotion towards his movies and TV then he was to me. He was spending so much time with Gideon, that now we barely saw or spent any time with each other. He was drifting away and there was nothing that I could do about it.

Half way into our fourth Lila Archer movie, I glanced over and I felt my heart seize in my chest. Jason was had drifted off to sleep somewhere along the way, and had slumped over onto the armrest of the couch. His feet had somehow ended up tucked next to him. Gideon had maneuvered them, though, so that his legs were stretched out over his lap and he was able to lay much more comfortably.

The ex-fed had a look of desperation on his features, but it was offset by an equally powerful expression of _love_. The man was filled with sorrow, but his caring- just like the caring all the Feds have shown for Spencer Reid from the moment they'd laid eyes on him – was overpowering. The man truly missed his old student.

He did not deserve Jason's trust.

* * *

><p>I received the phone call in the middle of the night. It woke me up from a dreamless sleep, and yet I didn't care at all. My hand shot to it, expectation rising as the only answer to who may be calling me jumped into my head. I flipped open the phone and pressed it to my ear without skipping a beat.<p>

"Hello?" My heart pounded in my chest and I couldn't help but feel a bit excited. I was desperate with some form of contact from Isaiah Masters, but I would have to wait. This was not from him. I recognized my father's voice immediately, and it sent shivers up my spine.

"Melissa, how are you tonight?"

"Dad, it's past midnight." I complained evenly, a roar of frustration coursed through me. Seriously, what _was _the man's problem? When he wasn't scolding me for doing something wrong or inept, he was keeping me from sleeping so he could regale some more 'war stories' of his day with me.

"Really, I hadn't noticed."

"And here I thought you noticed everything." I mumbled darkly.

"Melissa." It was the only warning that I would get, and I knew it too. Sighing slightly, I sat up in bed and I leaned against the headboard. My cell phone was chilly against my face and I was desperate to get off the phone and wait longer for Masters to call. I needed his help; I desperately needed his help. "I heard that you quit your job at the psych-ward."

"Dad, it was a sanitarium, not a psych-ward." I clarified tiredly.

"And you still quit, even after all the trouble I went through to get you in there."

"All the trouble you went through? I'm the one who went through med school in order to get there!"

"Melissa Marie, I don't know what's gotten into you, but you had best watch that tone."

"What did you call for dad? Because it's late and I really don't have time for this."

"Time? You don't have _time _to listen to your own father?" He was practically growling, but I felt a rare surge of vindication as I stood up to him. All my life I'd constantly been informed of just how bad I was and how I never did what he wanted me to do, well Detective Mark Ryan can go kiss my ass, because I was sick of it.

"Goodbye dad." And I hung up. I stared at the dark phone in my hand and I could feel my heart thundering against my chest. I had done it…I had stood up to my father. Years of him belittling and berating me, telling me how to live my own life, I had done it! I had finally done it!

I felt a surge of adrenaline, pleased beyond measure. I had the sudden urge to go to Jason and celebrate. I had conquered the man, and he could no longer have any say in what I said or did. I was my own person; I will always be my own person. There was nothing holding me back now.

A smile crossed my face and I started to laugh ever so slightly, and as I laughed, I started to think about the man. The man who I had spent my entire life trying to please and had never gotten passed the first page, had been nothing more then a bastard and a drill sergeant. I was free from him. I was free to do as I pleased, and I would never have to bow down to his misogynistic ways again.

As I laughed though, I suddenly started to realize the ramifications of my actions. I had just talked back to my father. I had just talked back to the man who had given me anything and everything I never needed. Sure he wasn't a cuddly man, but no one really is these days.

And he had a temper, a major, major temper. He was going to kill me. I knew it too. He was going to hunt me down and kill me. I gasped around my laughs and suddenly they came out in huge gulping sobs. Hysteria started to overcome me and I gasped choked and tried to regain myself, but I couldn't do it.

Not until the phone rang once more and my heart literally skipped a beat. I held my breath, hoping that it would just go away and that it wasn't going to be my father. My fingers were shaking around it, and I couldn't do anything to keep myself focused. I knew I had to answer it, I knew I hand to pick it up, accept my fate.

Shaking violently I answered the call. "Dad?" I whispered, in half terror.

"Not hardly." Sighing slightly at the familiar voice, my terror faded and I was filled with a strong sense of relief.

"You called." I couldn't say that I wasn't surprised, because I was. His timing couldn't have been more perfect either. The strong voice of Isaiah Masters was enough to focus me on my mission – on saving Jason Master's life. On saving him and keeping him with me, someplace no one could take him. We could be free and no one would have to tell us what to do.

"It took me some time to track your number and deem that you were…secure." I nodded into thin air.

"I need your help."

"So I gathered."

"Are you…nearby?" I kept my voice low, in case Gideon was awake and eavesdropping. I hadn't heard any movement, but I wouldn't be surprised if he could move soundlessly through this house.

"Yes and no."

"I need a place to take him, save him. He had me write down the name of a diner and an time. All I had to do was go there and he'd wait for me. I thanked him fondly, but then questioned the need for a more permanent solution.

"All in good time. This is all about trust, and you need to trust me." I nodded; I knew I needed to. If this was the only way to save Jason, I would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that it was done.

"Should I bring Jason?" I whispered the name, but I was eager to get a move on with this process. I wanted my boy to be safe and sound, and I didn't want to leave him alone – even if it was with Gideon. I didn't trust that he wouldn't take my boy elsewhere and I'd never see him again. I didn't trust these Feds in the slightest.

"Yes…that would be for the best. It has been quite some times since I've seen my son." I could almost hear the smile in his voice. I felt a shiver go up my spine. His son, my boy. Our family. "When we're done at the diner, there's a warehouse I've come into the possession of. We can make some final preparations there. Don't worry…you'll never have to lose Jason." I smiled and a feeling of contentment coursed through me.

"See you tomorrow then." And he said his goodbyes. Finally, things were going my way for once.


	5. Chapter 5

**Windstar: **I've finished writing this story. I'll post the remaining two chapters within the next few days. Thank you so much for such a fine welcome into this fanfiction community, I truly and honestly appreciate it. Hopefully people won't get too mad with the addition of a relatively minor character from the show, but it simply seems most likely to me. Thank you again, and enjoy!

**Warning: **For young readers, there is a sexual encounter later in this chapter. It isn't excessively graphic, but it does exist.

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

**Chapter Five: **

Gideon was easy to get rid of. I told him I wanted to run a personal assessment without any interference, and he agreed that that might be a good idea. He waved goodbye, I settled Jason into my the truck, and head out down the road. My boy was oddly quiet, but I didn't mind. It was just how it should be, back before Gideon had any say in the matter. Back before anything was happening, that I couldn't control.

Just Jason and me…Jason listening to me. I reached out and ran a hand through his hair, unable to stop myself. He turned and looked at me and gave me a slight smile. "Did you sleep well?" He asked me, and I felt my heart flutter in my chest.

"I got a phone call last night." I told him, my fingers slipping from where they were running through his brown locks and touching his left hand.

"From who?"

"Your father." A huge smile burst across his face.

"Is that where we're going?" He asked, excitement brewing in his body. He looked like he'd never been happier in his life, and I let his excitement course through me.

"Yes, it is." Now he was full of energy. He was practically bouncing out of his seat. He couldn't contain himself as he started to excitedly lick his lips and look out the window with antsy enthusiasm.

The drive to the diner didn't take long, and once we were out of the woods it was just a few brief turns until we were there. We stepped inside, and Jason practically threw himself at the man in the booth at the back. His arms wrapped around Isaiah's neck and he breathlessly greeted the man with wide and hopeful eyes.

"Son, it's been a long time." Isaiah greeted politely, moving aside to let Jason slide in. I sat across from them, for once not bothered by someone else's proximity to my boy. He was his father after all; it didn't matter if they were next to each other.

"Father, how have you been?"

"I'm well, very well. And you Dr. Ryan?" Isaiah was all business, and yet he was smiling. I smiled too. I felt at ease. My boy, his father. It was family, my family. I finally had a family, one that wasn't agitated or cross. We were simply a group of people who would live together in peace and quiet.

I felt like we talked for hours, we laughed and chatted and discussed meaningless things. Isaiah spoke about life when Jason was young, and he clung onto every word with all the attention of a true son. Every so often his eyes would go hazy, and I knew he was committing the words into memory, conjuring the images that would go along with it and giving himself an identity. He was solidifying Jason in his mind and everything else was fading away.

Isaiah was excellent at what he did. He spun his tales expertly, and Jason listened with care. He was the perfect son, and the perfect child. I loved him more and more with each passing moment. There was no sign of sugar in his meal, there was no sign of anything except for what I knew that Jason enjoyed. His food was perfect, his clothing was perfect, everything was perfect.

Isaiah led us from the diner and brought us to his warehouse, and I felt the thrill of excitement as I realized that this was just like escaping from the cops. I felt as though I was a part of a TV show or a movie, and my body was riddled with adrenaline. He showed us around, and I could see that everything had been fitted perfectly for a place to live in. There was only one area, an area that was curtained off and clearly someplace that he felt was important, that he did not allow us to enter. I didn't press, it wasn't important.

There was a small camping stove set up, along with other mats and comfortable areas to sit and stay on. It looked like he'd made it as livable as a warehouse could be, and he explained that as long as the police were looking for him this was the best that he could do. I accepted it for what it was, and watched as he handed my boy a bottle of water for him to drink.

Jason sipped at it dutifully, and after a small while he looked like he was getting extraordinarily tired. Isaiah casually offered him a place to sleep, and he took him up on the offer. Within a few moments he was snoozing peacefully on the mattress that was set up in the corner, and I looked over him with a watchful gaze.

"You drugged him." I accused blandly. I was oddly okay with that.

"Yes." He shrugged slightly and moved to sit down at his makeshift table. "Tell me about your situation." I sighed, but nodded my head. It was time that we had a very long talk.

* * *

><p>I can't remember how that talk turned into sex. We exchanged words, slowly yet surely, and then the touches began. He leaned in, and I leaned in, and the next thing I knew there was fire everywhere. It burned through my soul, my very nerve endings were alive and active, and in my mind I exchanged Isaiah (masterfully talented, Isaiah!) and placed my boy in his stead.<p>

I imagined how Jason's hands would run up my legs, cup my breasts between his palms and make my body come alive just for him. I imagined his perfect fingers getting lost in my hair. I imagined his lips on mine. With every move that Isaiah made, it was so easy to replace him in my mind with someone else. It was so easy to imagine Jason sliding in and around me, and I felt now, more then ever, that I was at peace.

The sex was good, and we had it many times that day. It was as if I couldn't get enough of him. I wanted more, and more. We changed positions, and each time I could feel _Jason's _hands upon me. I would look over towards my boy, still sleeping from the sedative, and I would be filled with the desire to touch, to tease, to make my own.

Isaiah let me at one point.

I moved, and I slipped my hand into Jason's, and as Isaiah filled my inner cavern, I held on to Jason's hand and felt perfectly safe and content. I had never felt more alive and more powerful, and more excited. Isaiah guided my wrist, with my fingers still gripping Jason's hand, and he moved so my boy was touching me on his own. My head was spinning with delight and I came and came again.

Jason never woke up, and I never dared to touch him anywhere else, but his hands sparked my imagination so much more. I burned with the need to touch him further, but I wanted him conscious. I wanted him to accept me, and to honestly and truly place himself between my legs and fill me as I had never known.

For now, Isaiah filled that desire.

I will never know how he convinced me to let out all the anger and frustration that burned within my soul by having sex…but I was glad that he did. I had never felt more powerful and more at ease than then.

I felt my control growing, and I felt as though I could do anything and everything. I felt as though Jason was truly going to stay mine forever.

I waited until Jason woke up, and then we said our goodbyes. Jason swore he wouldn't talk about Isaiah to anyone, and I watched as the man patted his head comfortably and let us leave. He acted as the perfect father to the man, and I felt a sense of pleasure course through me.

As we settled into our car, I turned and looked at Jason. He was humming some tune that I couldn't quite name, but he had heard it from somewhere. I reached out, and touched his hands once more – I couldn't help myself! He turned to me, an odd expression on his features. He wanted to know what I intended.

"Do you love me?" I asked him. His lips pressed downwards. His eyes grew in confusion. He didn't seem to understand what I was getting at.

"Yes." He said at long last. I felt my heart swell.

"I enjoy holding your hand." I told him, and he nodded his head, but there was something else…there in the caverns of his soul. I could read into him. He was perplexed. There was something unreachable that I couldn't touch. He was pulling away. I felt my heart constrict.

"Do you want me to do it more often?" I nodded, and so did he. "Then I will."

"Gideon is just like the other Feds." I told him, needing him to understand that the man was evil and that he couldn't put all his faith in him. "Soon enough, we'll leave and we'll never have to worry about that again. It'll just be you, your father, and I. We'll be safe…"

"Gideon seems nice." I squeezed his hand harder. I saw him grimace out of the corner of my eye. My nails were digging into his skin. I wanted so badly for him to touch me then. I wanted to feel him. I needed to feel him. I needed to know for certain that he was there, and that he was staying with me. I needed to know that he wasn't going to leave me alone, and that I wasn't going to fall by the way side.

"He's going to betray you, just like all the others. He is _not _a good man. He is evil. You must understand that he thinks you're Spencer Reid."

"No he doesn't." He was arguing, and I had the urge to strike him, the urge to force him to pay attention to me. I squeezed his hand even harder. I needed to make him understand that he was mine and mine alone. What I said is what mattered.

"Yes he does! He does!"

"He calls me Jason, he treats me like me. He's never asked me to be Spencer." He was arguing harder now, his voice almost frantic, like he couldn't believe what I was saying. How dare he? How _dare _he? I threw his hand away, pulled the car over to the side of the road, and thrust the car into park.

"He is playing with you. He's playing with you! Spencer Reid played chess with him, Spencer Reid owns the cabin we're staying at, Spencer Reid was his protégé and he's doing everything he can to slowly but surely change you into that _bastard_!"

"What is so bad with Spencer Reid?" The words slapped me in the face.

"I've told you, I've told you!"

"I don't remember!" I felt my chest constrict.

"They'll take you away. They'll take you away, they'll kill your father. They'll murder you. There is nothing wrong with being who you are. You're perfect; you don't need to be anyone else. If you become someone else, you'll be dead! Do you want to die? Because they'll kill you! They'd rather kill you then let you go on living!" Jason's face had gone deathly pale, and his eyes were wide. He looked terrified. He looked more terrified then every before.

"No…no they wouldn't…he wouldn't. He's my friend."

"He's Spencer Reid's friend. He keeps trying to make you into that bastard. In order to do that, he's trying to trick you. Chess, movies, food, the cabin- this is all his way to trick you into becoming Spencer Reid. You're not him."

"I'm not him." The repeat was quiet; his eyes were filling with tears. "I don't want to go back." He admitted brokenly. "I don't want to see Gideon anymore."

"When we get back to the cabin, I'll talk to him. We have to go, but Isaiah has a plan. We'll be able to leave soon, and no one will know about it. Soon we'll be able to disappear and you'll never have to worry about them again."

"Please Melissa, don't make me go back, I really don't want to."

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry my love." I reached out and took his hand once more. Squeezing it gently, I felt his pulse on his wrist as I held him close. "This will only be for a little longer…then everything will be alright." He nodded brokenly, and I continued to drive.

When we arrived back at the cabin, Gideon expressed his concerned – he had gotten worried about us. We had been gone all day and well into the night. Neither of us cared much. Jason quickly went to his bedroom and ignored the man. The ex-fed glanced after him, a frown on his face. He wasn't pleased.

When he looked back at me, his eyes were frosty. "Who exactly are you trying to make him be?" He asked me.

"Whomever he wishes to be." I replied evenly, stalking off to my bedroom, and ignoring everything else. I could not care less even if I tried. There was nothing Gideon could do to turn Jason against me now, I knew for a fact that my boy was mine and mine alone. No one could take that away from me.

* * *

><p>Three days later, I woke up to the sound of voices. The problem was, I didn't recognize one of them. I knew right away that the first was Gideon's, but the second was strange to me. For some reason, I thought I knew it, but at the same token, it was too strange for me to guess right away.<p>

I slipped out of bed, pulled on a robe, and quickly started to make my way towards the door. Pushing it open, I slipped out into the hall and started to approach the voices as quietly as I could.

"Lila, Hotch said that you were coming." Gideon sounded more resigned then anything else, and I tried to understand what was happening.

"Is he here?" The voice was young and sweet, and she was clearly worried. "They said he was."

"He isn't the same person that you remember. You coming to talk to him now is just going to scare and confuse him even more. He doesn't understand what's going on around him – let alone know you were friends of some kind." Gideon was speaking softly, with care, but it was clear that he believed that she was foolish for coming here.

"Please, let me just see if he's okay, if I see him for myself then-"

"No." Gideon's voice was firm, resolute. I peered around the corner and I took in the sight before me. My eyes widened, for there at the front door was none other then Jason's favorite actress – Lila Archer. "I understand that this is difficult for you, but he has to be able to figure this out by himself. Right now, he watches your movies and thinks that you're an actress far away that he'll never have contact with. It doesn't make sense for you to appear and want to speak to him."

"He doesn't have to know I'm Lila Archer then."

"Do you really want to lie to him?" Gideon asked with amusement clear in his voice. Her eyes stared up at him with clear pain and concern though, and I could tell that she was hurting from the situation. "The best thing you can do right now, is wait. Every day he's acting more and more like himself. I promise…it won't take long for him to come back."

"Those agents said that he was never going to come back. That your unsub made sure that all of the people he took never changed back."

"Reid's strong, he'll make it." Gideon placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

I felt hatred well in my heart. He didn't care at all about Jason. I had known from the start that that was the case, but this was the concrete proof. I wished Jason was here to hear this. Bastard, that _bastard!_

"What's going on?" The soft voice made everyone jump though, and I spun about to stare in wide-eyed shock up at Jason who was looking at me in confusion. My wish had been answered, and at just the wrong time too. Leaning around the corner, I knew what he saw. Gideon and Little-Miss-Perfect Lila Archer were standing together in a state of dumb shock. "Now way." He blinked in amazement and then pointed an accusatory finger at the group. "You're Lila Archer!" he announced, eyes wide and amazement growing by the second.

The blonde actress had the decency to look a little ashamed of being caught, but at the same time she rallied herself together, smiled politely, and held out her hand. "Hello, what's your name?" I almost wanted to smack the sneaky bitch. My boy didn't seem to give a damn all he cared about was that the pretty girl from his dreams.

He flew forwards without having to be asked twice, and I could tell that it surprised the girl. She wasn't used to him being so forthright probably. I could still remember how painfully shy Spencer Reid was when he first came in. If he hadn't been fighting so hard to convince everyone he wasn't crazy, he probably wouldn't have spoken to half of us.

"Jason, Jason Masters. I _love _your movies." He was practically gushing at this point. She smiled at that, clearly amused.

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Umm…do you know Gideon?" He asked, looking between the two curiously. That sense of unease that had been floating around them ever since I told him not to pay attention to the man any longer, started to lift in the air.

The filthy whore smiled ever so slightly, and I felt my heart twinge. I knew what was coming, and from Gideon's amused look – he did to. He seemed to have accepted the fact that Lila was going to have her way with this, and he wasn't working to intervene…yet.

"Yes, he helped me out several years ago when I had a deranged stalker." She smiled politely, and Jason's eyes widened.

"Really?"

"Yes, I can tell you about it if you'd like, and of course, if it's okay with Gideon." She looked towards the Agent with almost a daring gaze, and the man sighed slightly and stepped back out of the way.

"Come on in." He told her, although the annoyance was still there. Jason didn't seem to notice it, and the little twit certainly didn't care. She moved and sat down on the couch and Jason sat beside her practically jumping out of his skin he was so excited.

I watched and listened as the bitch described the events as well as she could. She spoke about how there were a series of murders in L.A. that Gideon and a young agent named Spencer Reid were apart of.

("You knew Spencer too?" Jason seemed almost reluctantly amazed by the turn of events, and I was even further disgusted by it.

"Yes, we were friends." She didn't even bat an eye and continued on with her tale. _Bitch_. She evenly stated that it was only through Gideon though, and that the relation wasn't all that strong. Lying whore. Jason lapped it up though, _fucker_.)

Gideon and Reid worked together to stop a stalker from killing her, and Reid was her bodyguard for a few days while they were trying to hunt down the unsub. The perpetrator entered the house, and Reid gallantly defended her life and without even firing a shot managed to take down an armed woman who had every intent to kill them.

Jason listened on with amazement on his face, and he smiled goofily at her the whole while. "How long are you going to be around for?" he asked politely, and she shrugged.

"I'm not certain. I'm on vacation and I don't really have any place to stay." It was as much of an invitation she was going to insinuate and I wanted to smack that stupid look right off her face. This wasn't a charity house, and we were here for Jason _not _for her and her agenda.

"We have a spare room." But of course, it was like a boy and a candy bar. He'd grab it even if his parents said no. Lila took him up on the offer before anyone could say no too. The two were completely and utterly annoying together; I was finding the urge to smack the girl too strong to ignore.

Suddenly my mind was filled with images of Lila Archer's bloody and dead body lying prostrate on the floor. I was tempted to use one of Gideon's knives to do it., perhaps his gun. That would be fitting. He could be next.

I turned on my heel and started to walk towards my room. Shutting the door, I moved and started to get dressed. My mind kept playing through all the ways I could kill the pair of people that kept harassing my boy and encouraging him to turn back into that damnable person.

I was just tugging my shirt over my head, when I heard my cell-phone start ringing. Walking towards it, I flipped it open and pressed it to my ear. "Hello?" I couldn't hide the aggravation I was feeling.

"You don't seem happy." I felt my heart freeze in my chest for just a brief moment before I spat my response. Isaiah Masters.

"It sure took you a long time to contact me again, you son of a bitch." My voice was dark with anger and I felt the strongest urge to just hang up and find my own way. He laughed lightly on the other end. "I need your help."

"I can see that. Having trouble keeping your toy…_your toy_?"

"I need to go to you." I told him, checking to make sure that the meddlesome members of the Spencer Reid fanclub were nowhere to be seen. He laughed slightly, and gave me an address that I was quick to write down on a piece of paper.

"You can't go there alone, call me first and I will prepare it for you."

"I'll call you whenever I damn well please." I told him stubbornly.

"You can call me whenever you like, I'm always interested in listening to what you have to say." I scowled at the lecherous tone. I was well aware that this man was a bastard, but that didn't change the fact that he was the only one that could satisfactorily take care of this situation for me. He had the most success in this field and if I wanted to keep Jason as Jason, I would need to work fast.

"I need to go to you sooner rather then later."

"You're having quite a bit of trouble then?" I nodded to the air and responded quickly.

"You can help me can't you?"

"Of course I can, I can do anything you'd like." He was smiling around the words, and I rubbed my arms unconsciously. Nothing mattered except for Jason. I just needed Jason to stay with me. As long as Jason was with me, I was going to be okay. I was going to live a perfectly happy and content life.

I just needed to get away from all these prying eyes. We could go somewhere and have a cabin of our own. He could sit and watch movies and do my bidding there. He could live a life of comfort and I would take care of him. I could give him anything he wanted.

I was a good caretaker. I was an excellent psychologist. I understood how his mind worked, and I was the best one to keep him in a state of pleasure. We ended the call, and I felt my heart pound in my chest. I needed to leave, and leave soon. I had to find a way to get Jason to come with me.

Opening the door, I stepped out into the hall just in time to hear the blonde bitch laugh. "I love to swim!"

"Did you like it before the show or after?" Jason's voice was dripping with fanaticism.

"Before, definitely. I used to go surfing all the time with my friends, I still do." There was something in that tone, that fucking obnoxious tone, that grated on my nerves. The insinuation was plain as day if anyone cared to hear it. I glanced over towards Gideon, who was in the kitchen area. He was flicking through something, and I moved towards him.

Looking at his face, I frowned. There was a glassy expression in his eyes, and he looked utterly broken. Turning my attention towards what he was flipping through, I realized that there were dozens of photos there. Licking my lips, I slipped closer so that I could get a better look.

My heart froze in my chest. These were photos of Lila and…_Reid_. While they were talking about swimming and surfing, I could see the pictures of them right there. There were shots of tourism that were at all the D.C. monuments, winter…somewhere…the beaches of someplace, a mountain top, a museum, someone's apartment, Reid's apartment, a decrepit looking diner.

Whore. Skank. Bitch. _Whore_. The urge to stab her came so much stronger now. I tore my attention from the pictures and I looked at the envelopes that were resting before him on the counter.

"They're from various people Reid saved." Gideon's voice was quiet. Jason wouldn't be able to hear us. I felt my heart burn with anger. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. "There's a few I don't recognize…but I know Nathan Harris."

"Oh yeah?" I didn't know what else to say. Gideon nodded slightly and then slowly packed the sides of the photos so that they were in a neat stack. Then he slid them back into Lila's purse that was resting on the counter.

"Apparently Reid kept in touch with them all. He'd right letters, and visit them."

"Like how he visited Lila." I motioned back towards the living room.

"He became friends with Lila, and he felt responsible for Nathan Harris. I don't know about these other people…Amanda and Adam Jackson…Owen Savage…" There were more names, but he didn't go on.

"But he called them up…kept in touch? Why would he do that?"

"Because he cared about every one of them, and he wanted to make sure they were all alright. Lila knew something was wrong when he stopped writing. She came to D.C. trying to find him months ago."

"Hey Gideon, we're going to go outside by the lake, alright?" Lila called in. I turned my head, and had to battle with another insensible surge of hatred as I saw her hand in Jason's. My boy looked absolutely thrilled with the idea of her being there. I knew that it was most likely hormones, but that didn't matter at the moment. All that mattered was that the scrawny bitch was touching _my boy's _hands!

"Don't do anything stupid." Gideon returned, sighing slightly.

"You knew she was coming." I accused, even as I listened closely as the whore and my boy scampered out the back door towards the lake.

"Hotch called and gave me a warning about it." He agreed lightly. "He'd just let her know that they found him. I'm surprised she showed up so quickly, to be honest."

"And you just let her come?" I couldn't help the accusation. It was too powerful, and I was too angry.

"She's a pigheaded girl. She was going to come whether I wanted her to or not. It's just how she is. She does things her way…all the time." He was smiling about something, and I wondered what memory he was recalling.

"This isn't going to help him." Gideon was shaking his head.

"It might, if she can refrain from treating him like Spencer, it just might."

"Why's that?" I needed to know the answer, so I could kill any chance of it happening like that.

"Some part of him knows that they were friends, that he saved her life. That's a powerful bond…between savior and victim." I grit my teeth. Wandering over towards the back window, I felt Gideon move with me. He stood at my elbow, and we watched as Lila happily chatted away and Jason listened to her with wide eyes and open ears.

I wanted nothing more then to drown that scrawny bitch in the lake, but there was no way that I could do so without drawing attention to myself. I hated her so much then, I hated her _so very much_.

That's when it happened; the skank tripped and fell right into the fucking lake. I almost hooted with delight at the divine retribution. _Almost_. If it hadn't looked so fake, I would have. I felt Gideon freeze at my side. Turning, I couldn't help but ask him what I didn't know.

"I told her not to do anything stupid." He murmured, already going towards the back door and pushing it open. I watched the girl shake her head as she surfaced in the water. She was laughing, and Jason was hastily asking her if she was alright. I could just make out what she was saying.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. The water's actually really nice." She held up a hand, and he slowly reached down.

"Idiot!" I hissed as I picked up my open pace. I knew what was going to happen before he did, apparently. He took hold of her hand, and she tugged _hard_. Off balanced already, he went head first into the water.

I could still hear her laughing the whole while, clearly amused by the situation. Gideon was running hard now, and I was as well. I hurried as fast as I could. Her laughter was slowly stopping as horror started to seep through all of us. Jason hadn't resurfaced.


	6. Chapter 6

**Windstar: **This is the final (official) chapter of this story. I have contemplated writing an epilogue, but with the way that it ends, I find that an epilogue won't fit into the story itself. I have also considered writing the same story through the BAU's perspective (not first person, though, instead: third person omniscient). Because there's a lot that's left out when you only follow one character, certain details in his fanfiction (this chapter especially) may seem rushed or abrupt. I suppose my basis for that is much like the episode "True Night," where you follow the unsub and just randomly they barge into his apartment while he's having a break down.

I understand that many people don't particularly like Lila as a character, but my reasoning for putting her in the story is sound. Like Gideon said, there's a bond between a hero and their rescued victim. Psychologically, it ties them together in a form of responsibility that turns into a kind of worship on one end and enforcer on the other. Dissociative Fugue states get broken randomly and with no apparent cause, but here I needed at least some form of trigger. Gideon's guidance and the psychological tie between hero and victim formed that starting point. I would have picked another character, but honestly, all of Reid's saved people are unsubs or institutionalized. The people he helped...not really walking around freely. (It would have been so much easier to do this with Gideon, with his wall of saved persons, but honestly I'm still disgruntled he'd left)

I've taken certain liberties, expanded on their relationship, and I hope that it's not too dissatisfying. They're friends, good friends - but friends none the less. They're not dating, and there is no romantic entanglements. I hope that suspends the realm of disbelief just enough to be acceptable.

Thank you very much to all of my reviewers, you've welcomed me into this fandom with huge encouragement and grace. I appreciate it very much.

All the best,

Windstar.

**Chapter: **

"Spence?" The name left that whore's mouth without her really aware of it. Then terror shot through her. "Oh God." She dove into the water; I couldn't see my boy. I couldn't see my boy! She'd killed him. She'd killed him!

My boy didn't know how to swim!

My boy was going to die!

I was just making it to the edge of the lake, but Gideon was faster. He dove off the dock and into the water, and my knees hit the ground as I stared at the surface in shock. I couldn't breathe. My lungs were burning in my chest.

I had a plan.

I had a _plan_. Isaiah was going to get us out and everything was going to be alright.

It didn't involve him drowning!

My breath caught in my throat as I saw that fucking whore surface. Gideon came up with her, and between them my boy was floating head down. He wasn't conscious. They were swimming to the shore. Quickly, they pulled him onto the rocky ground, and lay him flat on his back. His eyes were half open, but he wasn't breathing.

Gideon placed his hands on his chest and pushed down hard, even as Lila tilted my boy's head. Water bubbled from his lips, but he wasn't otherwise reacting. That filthy whore pressed her lips to his mouth and breathed air into his lungs, desperately, hopefully.

Gideon pressed down again, and again. I felt terror coursing through me, cursing that bitch again and again for what she had done. How dare she, how _dare _she.

Then it happened all at once. She went to breathe into his mouth again, but he suddenly lurched. Gideon's hand's pulled away from his chest even as my boy twisted onto his side reflexively. He coughed and sputtered, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he tried to bring air into his lungs. Lila's hand ran along his back, and I wanted to break each and every one of her fingers clear off. Whore, _whore_!

I moved forwards, eager to push her away. My hand reached out to encircle her scrawny wrist, when a quiet and weak voice froze me in my tracks.

"Marie?" Gideon's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Lila was rigid; her eyes widened just a bit.

"Does that mean something to you?" The ex-fed asked.

"It's…my middle name." She hastened to explain. "His is Matt…we…called each other them. It was an inside joke…" _No_.

Jason was coughing badly, but he was slowly struggling to sit up.

"Where…" My boy was squinting, looking around. His eyes landed on Gideon, and he stared up at him in stunned shock. "_Gideon_?"

"Spencer." It was a risky calculation on Gideon's part, but I already knew how he would answer. _No. _

"What, what are you doing here?" He coughed, one hand going to his chest and rubbing it. Gideon smiled faintly, clapping the boy on the shoulder and then drawing him in for a hug. Jason was still coughing, but his face was riddled with confusion and misunderstanding. His eyes slid around him, focusing on his surroundings the best he could.

"It's good to see you again." Gideon murmured softly, holding my boy, _my boy_, closely. I thought I could see a tear in his eye, but it wasn't entirely obvious.

_No. _

_No. _

_No._

_No._

_No!_

"I don't…understand…What's going on?" My boy shivered slightly, and Gideon pulled back slightly, just enough to place a hand on the boy's forearm and pull him upright. Lila took the hint and took his other arm, helping him up to his feet. He was shaking badly, and his cough was persistent. From the chill in the air, he was liable to catch a cold, or worse – pneumonia.

"Let's go inside, we'll explain everything." He nodded ever so slightly, his eyes drooping ever so slightly as they gently led him into the cabin. My face was drained of all blood, I could feel it sinking out and into my toes. My heart was hammering in my head. As I walked, I felt my mind going numb around the edges.

_No. _

_No. _

_No._

_He's mine! He's mine! _

Black spots crossed across my eyes as a wave of nausea and dizziness overcame me. My heart was thundering in my head. That bitch was talking to my boy, and he was leaning slightly – listening and humming responses where appropriate. After a time, the confusion would settle and he'd work out his own thoughts. From how he was standing, I could tell quite clearly that he was different from Jason. His back was stooped slightly; neck curved just a little. Despite his obvious need of assistance, he seemed to shy slightly from their touch.

_No!_

_No!_

They led him inside, and wrapped a blanket around his shuddering shoulders. All the while, someone kept him talking. They'd brought Jason….Spencer…to his room, and Gideon gave us both a look that meant no funny business. "Go change," He urged Lila. "I got this." Gideon urged Lila; she bit her lip for a moment, before nodding and quickly leaving. I heard her rummaging for something down the hall, but it was only a vague awareness.

"Spencer, I need you to focus on me for a moment, can you do that?" Gideon was asking gently, softly. His hand stayed on my boy's shoulder, shaking it just enough to make him look up and stare owlishly at him.

"What are you doing here? When did you come back?"

"A few weeks ago." Gideon replied honestly. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Remember?" The word was softly spoken, Jas-Spencer's eyes pinched together, his lips pursed, and his brows furrowed. He reached a shivering hand to his head and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He rubbed at his eyes slightly, and I wondered if his contacts were bothering him.

"There's a pair of glasses in the desk." Gideon offered, and almost at once Ja-Spencer tore the clear devices from his eyes and blinked at the blurry world around him. I heard Lila returning, and I glanced back to look at her. She was breathless in her rush, and she shouldered passed me and into the room.

"Matt?" I blinked, Gideon blinked, Spencer turned his head.

"Weren't you in England?" He asked, trying to piece together what was happening.

"I hadn't heard from you in months, and so I called Nathan, and _he _hadn't heard from you either. Your mom was frantic as well, so I came to D.C."

"Months?" he echoed the word, and one hand rubbed anxiously at his head. "Mom? What are you talking about?"

"You've been gone for over two years." Gideon replied evenly.

"Gone?"

"Gideon, you should change too." I spoke up suddenly, my voice finding itself at the worst moment. They all looked at me, but I didn't care. "And J-Spencer should change out of that before he becomes ill."

My boy was staring at me, his face was coated in confusion. He looked uncertain, and bemused. Gideon sighed though, and nodded. "I'll be back." He said simply, giving Dr. Reid's shoulder a squeeze before quickly moving out of the room and into his own.

Lila moved towards my boy's drawers and began to find something that would work well. Reid just sat still on the bed, head in hands and confusion on his face. He was still trying to piece everything together, and it was clear the answers weren't coming to him as fast as they could have been.

I knew I had to move quickly though, and so I did the only thing I could think of. I rushed that skanky blonde bitch, and struck her in the back of the head as hard as I could with the first thing my free hand could grab – a paperweight off of his desk. Lila fell to the ground in a heap. Turning slightly, I watched my boy jump badly.

He moved as if he planned to stand, but I struck him across the face. His knees gave out and he collapsed backwards on the bed, silent and unmoving. My heart thundered in my chest, my lungs squeezed painfully. I turned, and quickly made my way towards Gideon's room, and I knew what I had to do.

I slowly pushed the door open; ever careful that the man inside didn't know I was coming in. Gideon had removed his gun from his hip, only glancing at it once in dissatisfaction – it was soaking wet. He'd placed it on the table beside the couch, before shrugging out of his jacket and throwing that on the bed. His movements were quick and hasty, but it wouldn't matter.

I picked up the discarded weapon, aimed it in front of me, and shot the man in the back. He fell to the ground with a moan of pain, but he was successfully incapacitated. He didn't move to get up, and I quickly turned and hurried back to my boy's room. I stopped only once on the way back, grabbing a kitchen knife in a spur of the moment action that made me breathless.

Lila was still unconscious, but I had had enough with her. It didn't feel right to shoot her. It didn't feel right at all. This was personal; this was entirely personal. I wanted her to feel my rage, my pain, my hate. I wanted her to understand what it felt like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and crushed.

Kneeling over her, I raised the knife high and then brought it down as hard as I could. It stabbed into her upper chest, and struck bone. The action should have done something, made her make some kind of noise, but it didn't. I was filled with a fury I couldn't understand and so I stabbed her again, and again.

"Marie?" The knife slipped from my hands, and I tilted my head up. Spencer, bastard replication of my boy, was starting to wake up. His eyes were blurry. He was still only somewhat there. He wasn't even a real person. He wasn't fully conscious. I wanted my boy back. I wanted my boy back!

Moving forwards, I took him by the arm – his still wet arm – and dragged him to his feet. "We're leaving." I told him, pulling him roughly towards the door. I shoved him outside, and he followed blindly. One of his hands still gripped his head, he wasn't fully aware of what was happening around him. He didn't understand, and without his contacts; couldn't really see, what was happening.

I pushed him into my truck, and buckled my seatbelt. I needed to think, but most importantly, I needed to leave.

I peeled out of the driveway, my boy gripped his head the whole while. He was nauseas and threatened to puke a few times. I didn't care. I just needed to go as fast as I could. I needed to reach my destination – the warehouse – as soon as possible.

My phone was ringing, but I didn't dare pick it up. I couldn't. Not right now. I needed to leave. I needed to leave!

I drove as fast as I dared, not crossing the speed limit once, and always used my directionals. I forced my self to breathe. I forced myself to be calm.

"What's going on?" Spencer asked, his hands rubbing at his eyes. I hadn't given him time to get his glasses. I doubted he could see anything.

"We're going home." I told him.

"Who are you?" He asked me, desperation in his voice. I felt my heart constrict. I felt my blood pressure rise. Anger filled me.

"Melissa, I'm Melissa, don't you remember me?" I knew at once that he did. Suddenly awareness was filtering across his face.

"Melissa Ryan." He murmured. "You're a doctor at a sanitarium, you were trying to convince me I didn't exist." His tone was scathing, angry. I felt my head spinning.

"You don't!" I cried out, panic in my voice as I pressed forwards down the roads. The warehouse was just up ahead. "Your name is Jason Masters, your father is Isaiah Masters, you're a boy! You're _my _boy!"

"My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm a federal agent. Pull over." I gripped the wheel harder. "Pull over right now, Melissa." My mind was spinning too violently. I struck out, knocking him in the head once more.

He gripped it painfully, and I could see a trickle of blood sliding down the side of his face. He was shivering from the cold, the pain, the confusion. His world was tipping. I wondered if this would be enough to send him back into the world I'd created, the world where he belonged to me and everything was going to be fine.

I pulled into the warehouse, and threw the car in park. Gun in hand, I wrenched my boy from the truck. He was stumbling slightly, unsteady. He probably had a concussion. I didn't care though; I couldn't care. I just needed Jason back. I just needed that control back.

"Isaiah!" I screamed into the building. Reid gripped his head harder, he whimpered slightly. "Isaiah, come out here." I threw Reid onto the bed he'd slept on a few days earlier. My body was shaking; the adrenaline was fading. I couldn't see the man.

Quickly I hurried towards the closed off section. I needed to find him. I needed his help.

Throwing back the curtain, everything slowed down into a deafening halt, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

For there, all over the walls and the table the curtain had hidden, were pictures of me.

There were other women too, other men as well. Some were children, some were adults. Every one of them was named and dated. I recognized some of them too. They were the names of the victims that were involved in the case against Isaiah Masters. These were the people that he had kidnapped, and irreversibly changed.

I stared at the names, the faces, and every time I was brought back to my own.

At some point, I realized I was shivering.

"I told you not to look back behind the curtain." I whipped around. Isaiah Masters was crouching by my boy. His hand was running through Reid's hair. The doctor was flinching away from him, but he didn't seem coordinated enough or conscious enough to fight back to any degree.

"Don't touch him." I told him, but my voice was weak – broken. I kept turning to look at my face.

There were child photos, adult photos, graduation pictures. My life was on this wall. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe. I didn't understand.

My father was there too. My father was there in one very large picture that had twelve different cops in it. All of the other policemen had large 'x' signs drawn on their faces. My father was the last one without an 'x.'

"What is this?" I asked, panic in my chest.

"You knew better then everyone else what I was capable of. What I'd done."

"Reid. Reid was your target." I pointed to my boy, my boy who was still having his hair molested by the man.

"Reid's not the child of a cop." He pointed out instead, a small smile on his face. "And honestly, someone like him? He'll get better. He's already proven that. He's already become the same person he was before."

"No."

"He's the same, too. Concussed, confused, but the same. He really does need a doctor." He was smiling now, laughing. He stood up. My boy shifted slightly, his back pressing against the wall. He was blinking up at us both, trying to understand what was happening. He didn't have all the information though, and even he couldn't make sense of this without help.

"You're our unsub." Or not. "The one we were hunting." His voice was quiet, but there was a slight slur there.

"Very good, Doctor, I'm surprised you didn't remember sooner." Isaiah congratulated.

"We thought you were going to go after Henry or Jack."

"No…No…those boys were never my targets. They didn't need to be."

"Why?" Reid asked, his eyes squeezing shut and opening. I wondered if the light bothered him. He was shaking; he was still wet. He was going to get sick. All of this was in the background though, to me, all I could do was stare, stare and feel as though everything was falling apart.

"Twenty-one years ago, my son was taken away from me."

"You didn't have a job, and he was truant."

"When I finally had him back, do you know what they did? Do you know what happened?"

"In the eight foster homes he was sent to over four different years, he was beaten and abused; mentally, sexually, physically. He became the one in eight abused persons who became an abuser later in life. He reciprocated on the public, and raped and murdered twelve women before he was caught and thrown in jail." Reid said the words, but I wondered if he understood the ramifications.

"He committed suicide."

"I'm sorry."

"Those bastards…those bastards, they deserved to pay!"

"By changing their children? By making them different? What happened to your son was unfortunate, but he-"

"Unfortunate? Unfortunate? I was a good parent! I was a good parent! None of this would have happened if those bastards had just left him with me!"

"You couldn't care for your son, there was nothing you could have done. He had the tendencies to do what he did before he was taken from you, he was sick-"

"No. No he wasn't."

"Why me?" Both of them turned to look at me. I felt my heart hammer in my chest. "Why is my photo on that wall?"

"Your bastard father, he's the one who arrested my son. He's the one who took him away and put him in jail. Because of him, my boy was killed himself!" I flinched at the words. I looked at the wall.

I felt my world spin around me.

"But…but I wasn't kidnapped. I wasn't changed."

"Wasn't changed?" Isaiah laughed. Reid didn't even look surprised. I couldn't piece together what they both seemed to know. "Wasn't changed? You took a man who was perfectly sane, and sent him into a dissociative state. You turned him into _my _son. You quit your job, lied to everyone around you, and came to D.C. to ensure that he never became himself again. You had sex with a man you knew was responsible for kidnapping and delivering him into your sanitarium. From the blood on your hands and clothes, you probably killed that FBI agent that was staying with you. You still believe you _haven't _changed?"

I stared at him. My mind went numb. I couldn't breathe.

His words from so many months ago, came back.

_My finest work_.

And an address. My address. Whenever he takes someone, he leads the police straight to them. He gives them back.

He took me. He took my very existence, and he shattered it. I had yelled at my father. Killed an FBI Agent (admittedly a former FBI Agent) and an actress. I had kidnapped a man and tried to turn him into someone else.

"Bastard." The word left my mouth, I felt empty. I felt totally soulless. I felt like nothing mattered. My body went numb, my mind quieted.

Nothing else mattered.

I raised my hand, Gideon's gun still in it, and without even blinking – I fired. Isaiah staggered. His mouth fell open in shock. Reid scrambled slightly where he was sitting.

I fired again. Isaiah fell to the ground. Reid was staring at the sight with wide eyes and mouth dropped.

I fired again. Isaiah Masters was dead, and I was out of bullets.

I dropped the gun. Turning my head slightly, I looked at my boy. He was shivering badly, horror crossed over his face. Innocent, pure, not like me. Not like me.

Tears were forming in my eyes.

Nothing was right anymore, nothing was right anymore.

I walked towards him. He looked up at me. His eyes were unfocussed, the horror and pain was still very much there, but I doubted his mind was firing properly anyway. I needed to push him a little more.

I didn't care. I didn't care about what Isaiah did to me, but I needed Jason. I needed him there. I never had a friend before, and Jason was the only one who would be there for me. He was the only one who would stay with me and do what I asked. I never had anyone before that was like him.

So even if it was wrong, even if I knew I was twisted and warped, I needed him back. I desperately needed him back.

I needed to tear down the last resolves that Spencer Reid had, and I needed to bring my boy back to me.

My hand reached out, and I took hold of his throat. His hands quickly took hold of mine, and grasped at it, trying desperately to keep me from squeezing as hard as I was, but I couldn't help it. When he'd fallen into the water, he'd stopped breathing. When he came to again, he was Spencer Reid.

I struck him again when he started to fight against me, and eventually I just watched as his breath left his lungs. I held on a moment longer, and then released his throat. I watched as his eyes slowly opened and air thrust into his chest. I watched as he coughed, and gasped, weakly shivering against my touch.

"What is your name?" I asked him.

"SSA…Doctor…Spencer Reid." He murmured softly, and I felt a burst of anger and desperation.

My hands flew out, both of them encircled his throat and I squeezed down once more. Panic was flooding through me, but I kept concentrating. I needed to keep focused, one false move and I could kill him. I didn't want to kill him. I needed him.

I needed him unlike anything else I'd ever needed. He was special. He was mine. He was my complete other half. Without Jason, I was a failure. I had let a madman destroy my life. Without Jason, I would be nothing. With Jason, I could at least say that I had done something, I could at least say that I had a friend – a real one.

"What's your name?" I asked him, as I let him up for air. His eyes were bloodshot, and his voice was a mere whisper. The coughs and heaves of pain echoed around me. He couldn't get the words out right to start with, but eventually he managed to speak.

"S…S…A…Doctor….Spencer…Reid." I slapped him across the face, and he recoiled slightly, and I grabbed at his throat. I squeezed, put pressure on, and even twisted as much as I dared. I waited far longer then before, far longer then I'd ever considered.

My hair was in my face, my clothes were bloodstained, my hands were wrapped prominently around my boy's neck, and I knew that my eyes were wide and crazed. That is exactly what I looked like when they found me.

The door was burst open, and SSA Derek Morgan approached, gun drawn and walking speedily towards me. He spared half a glance at Isaiah, before ordering me to get off of my boy. I didn't move. I couldn't move. It wasn't fair. I wasn't done. I wasn't done.

He wasn't breathing under my grasp, I knew I should have let go, but I couldn't. I couldn't do it. He wasn't Jason yet. I needed Jason…Spencer Reid was a failure. My failure. I needed something to hold on to. I needed something to prove that everything was worth while.

Arms grabbed me, and tore me off of my boy, and I recall fighting as hard as I could to get away from them. I needed to get to my boy. I needed to touch his perfect hands. I needed to caress his face. I needed to apologize for hurting him. I needed him. I needed him!

Morgan pressed his fingers against Reid's neck and then immediately started CPR. I watched, desperately hopeful. After a few agonizing moments, I rejoiced when I saw my boy take a shuddering breath. His eyes fluttered open, they were tired and dragged down. He looked awful in every sense of the word.

He stared up at Morgan, and I held my breath. I begged and prayed to whatever deity was out there. I needed to know that I had succeeded, that Jason Masters was once again alive and well.

"Morgan…" his voice was breathy, a whisper. I could barely hear him. Morgan's hands were holding onto my boy's face, and I could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.

"Yeah kid, I'm right here. You're all right. We're gonna take care of you all right?" My boy tilted his head slightly, and hummed something. "I need to check that big head of your, okay kid? Can you answer a few questions?" Another hum, and I watched his dark eyes blink hazily up at the older agent who handled him with such care, such love. "What's your name kid?" I held my breath.

"My…name…" He mumbled the words, and I could feel the tension in the air as the agents who held me gripped my arms tighter. "My name….is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid…." He whispered.

"Yeah, kid…yeah, it is." The relief pouring off of Morgan was obvious. He held my boy up, holding him to him in a hug that was both fraternal and desperate. My boy…no…the Doctor…reached a shaking hand up and gripped the back of Morgan's shirt.

"Tired." He murmured.

"I know, we have to go to the hospital. Then you can rest, okay?" Spencer nodded, but didn't make any motion to move. Morgan didn't seem to mind, and held him up like any brother would do for their injured sibling. I felt my heart break.

I had failed.

I was in the FBI headquarters at Quantico when I heard that Gideon was the one who called the Feds and told them to track down my truck and cell. He phoned in an ambulance, and somehow managed to keep Lila Archer stable until they could get there and take care of them. I'd blown out his shoulder, but he was going to live. Lila was in the ICU, and wasn't awake yet. The doctors say she's lucky, and I'd have to agree with them. Isaiah Masters was dead, and I was happy for that. No one would tell me about Reid. Every time I asked, they glared at me. I should probably have stopped calling him Jason, but I couldn't help myself. It was his name.

SSA Aaron Hotchner came in, handed me a pad and paper, and had me write down my confession. It was here, that I wrote down everything as accurately as I could, everything that I could think of that was important and pertinent to this case and my involvement in it.

I freely admit to murdering Isaiah Masters. I don't deny that, and I won't. He deserved to die. I admit to assaulting Lila Archer and Jason Gideon with the intention to kill.

As for Spencer Reid…I admit to trying to make him Jason. To me, he will always be Jason, and I will never be able to think of him as anything less.

This is my signed and full confession, and I accept any punishment and expect the full weight of the law to bear down on me. It is what I deserve…and it is what my father deserves.

_Dr. Melissa Ryan_


End file.
